Hidden note: The Winchester Mad Bombings Case
by EfiWild
Summary: Fanfiction based on the "Death Note" series created by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata, which tells the story of Quillsh Wammy, a famous inventor who must join forces with a mysterious orphan to end a series of attacks that have occurred in the region of Winchester.
1. Introduction

The upcoming November 5th is a new anniversary of the death of two geniuses. At my age, I have lost many loved persons, but I didn't become immune to grief. For sure my end is coming too, as this body refuses to function as before; maybe I will end with a heart attack, but Kira won't be responsible of it.

Now I'm called Watari, but actually my name has always been Roger Ruvie. I have the honor of representing the wonderful man who was Quillsh Wammy. The orphanage children watch his photography as a curiosity, not knowing that his benefactor, besides being a renowned inventor and a national hero, was a lovable human. About the extraordinary L, the first to use that letter as identification, what can I say? The rest of the world ignore that he already left this existence, because Near took his place with great success, and also found a follower. It would be a shame you never got to know the origin of the detective who inspired so many people; just like everyone, he had a father and a mother, and indeed, I was in charge of searching them. My report on the peculiar pair mysteriously disappeared, but I can recreate it with enough fidelity.

I kept these secrets, thinking of the safety of the people involved, but it's been a while, and no one could be affected. I write this chronicle with the intention of giving a legacy of knowledge to my dear people of Wammy's House... and because I can not bear the burden of conscience. It was me who turned the orphanage into a recruitment center for successors of L, claiming he needed a disciple to keep his skills exploited in favor of justice, but my real intentions were different…  
>Although between Quillsh and me was a difference of only six years of age, I regarded him as a father, because he saw talent in me and grew it. He entrusted me the administration of his most beloved institution, but I took it to disaster! I didn't want to preserve L's career, but was interested in showing that the strange child was not as special as everyone thought. He stole the attention of Mr. Wammy, so I forced the inmates to study to death, anxious to get a better genius. I am very embarrassed by it, and apologize to those who damaged, though nothing can bring back the small A, Alex Brown, who took his own life when couldn't withstand the pressure. And what about Beyond Birthday? he ended his days in prison, as a ruthless murderer. I can not hold back the tears at the memory of Mihael Keehl, my dear blonde brawler; sometimes I hear again his mischievous laugh through the halls of the house. I felt for him a special love, because he was with me since a baby. He possesed the qualities to be an excellent researcher anywhere in the world; if he wasn't obsessed for surpassing his mentor, now he would be enjoying the success he deserved. It's too bad that Mello can't read this text, because I doubt he knew the full version of "The Winchester Mad Bombings Case".<p>

I will make a bow to the ones who are gone, hoping their example live in those who read these memoirs.

**Busca la versión completa en español de esta historia en Scribd o en Fanfic es**

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


	2. The empty tomb of Coventry

As I said before, the figure of Mr. Quillsh Wammy was very important in my life. Even before meeting him in person, I knew his adventures and misadventures through letters from my sister Margaret, who was madly in love with him. She lived in the capital near the famous family, so she followed their steps and collected the stories about them appeared in the newspapers. Her passionate messages were the note that broke the silence of my lonely life in Hampshire, but what I knew at that time about the inventor was superficial; to his authentic self I could only access through the conversations we had, and thanks to his diary, which was the most valuable treasure that I had in my hands. Actually, it was a bunch of sheets written with large differences of date between each one, and sometimes the facts were narrated in detail or just as ideas or isolated phrases. As he annotated, "the paper was the only friend I could have trust those thoughts". I was forced to destroy the documents, because for this purpose were given to me, but before I did read and reread its content, memorizing it so carefully, that I can still reconstruct complete pages.

Quillsh Wammy was born on May 1st of 1933. He was the eldest son of Rose Mary Lindbergh and Edward Charles Wammy, retired airline pilot and successful manufacturer of pipes. In 1936 was born Victoria Rose Wammy, the last of the offspring. From a very young age, Quillsh showed great intelligence and interest in school, so he could finish basic education with honors in just a couple of years. In 1940, when England was threatened during the Second World War, Mr. Edward decided to enlist in the Royal Air Force, and sent his wife and daughter to refuge at his mother-in law's house in Coventry. Meanwhile, the Little boy became an apprentice to legendary scientist Reginald Victor Jones, with the recommendation of the also mythical Alan Turing, who relied on the talent of the child to develop technologies to neutralize the weapons of the German enemy.

Edward was recognized as a national hero after taking part in air battles of August, but his son did not became famous at that time. The project he worked in was kept in the utmost secrecy, and the names of the participants were only revealed years later. Then, England people could applaud the men of Bletchley Park who preserved countless lives through his prodigious reasoning, but Quillsh didn't enjoy the glory, because had failed to save his most beloved one: his mother. Scientists diverted bombs several times, but failed to prevent the destruction of the place were Wammy women hide; Edward never forgave him that his heir. Due to the magnitude of the disaster, the remains of Mary were buried without ceremony in the devastated city, but months later were sent to the family crypt in London. Fortunately Victoria survived, but suffered a trauma so strong that remained afraid to go outside. So she never married, despite being very beautiful.

Quillsh continued his studies and graduated as a physicist and engineer in electronics with the best grades. In just over a decade managed to record fifty eight patents ranging from innovative models of stoves, water heaters, radar, rifles, various chemical formulas, techniques for extraction of minerals, to cooling and fire systems. Soon his fortune exceeded that of his father, and he founded numerous factories, besides the orphanage we care for: Wammy's House. The institution opened in 1969 in the region of Winchester, as a tool for making bearable the loneliness of his sister, who was in charge. The inventor had not married neither, because he had not found a woman who meet the expectations of perfection that his father had taught him. So, despite being an admired member of the major social groups, and have money to throw away, he was sad and empty... just like the tomb of his mother in Coventry.

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


	3. After the storm comes the bomb

I will never forget that stormy October night when everything changed unexpectedly. I was at home suffering for my plants, because the specimens in the yard were receiving the blows of the storm. The wind roared as if the apocalypse came, and to make matters worse, suddenly the electricity was cut. I started searching for some candles I kept for such emergencies, but couldn't locate them; after colliding with lots of objects in the dark, I resigned myself to wait for a better dawn.

Don't know how long I was asleep, but suddenly a flashlight came through the windows of my door and heard a desperate knocking. I immediately went to open, and great was my surprise when I had in front of me the man I had read about so much. Quillsh Wammy was completely soaked and holding a destroyed umbrella, but even then he didn't lost his characteristic phlegm.

—Good evening, —the gentleman said taking off his spoiled hat—. Would you be so kind as to provide shelter for my driver and a server? As you can notice, it is impossible to continue on our way.

I immediately invited them in. Mr. Wammy gave me his lamp so I could find the candles and bring towels and dry clothes. Fortunately there was enough hot water for both to take a bath.

—What brings you here? —I ventured to inquire.

—My sister died.

—I'm really sorry. She was buried in London, right?

—It's correct. I came to find a new director for the orphanage.

—Will be hard to find someone with the virtues of Miss Victoria. Here live simple people with little education.

—What I want is an honest person, who can inculcate values to the boys and have time for them. What is your occupation?

—I'm a gardener— I said proudly—. Although lately I haven't had work —I added, less conceited.

—I don't understand. The flowers I see here are magnificent.

—I use organic farming techniques that are slower than those that rely on chemicals and pesticides. I am a bug lover, and instead of destroy them I seek for plant combinations that keep them controlled.

—Very interesting —replied Mr. Wammy rubbing his thick mustache—. I see you have several books on the subject.

The rest of the evening we were talking about entomology. My interlocutor was so concerned, so my heart felt happy. No one had given me so much attention before. We went to bed late in the midnight, but the fury of the storm didn't decreased. I left for them my little room and settled into an armchair, but the truth is I couldn't sleep; I was afraid that my guest could discover the photo collection that Margaret had sent me. What a weird impression he would have gotten finding his portraits under my bed!

England suffered "The Great Storm of 87", so the travelers decided to stay in my home until the danger ended. I wished I could offer better food and attention, but I was not used to visits. Nevertheless, I think the great inventor got a good impression from me, because he ended up hiring me to plant flowers to fill the children's home.

On Sunday we finally moved. Along the way we encounter people who were in trouble by fallen trees or electrical failure, and my gentle boss stopped to provide all the help he could. Deservedly was a celebrity, and I felt honored to be integrated into his world.

Wammy's House worked in an elegant building that once was a convent. At that time it had beautiful stained glasses that an Italian artist designed to fill the place with multicolored lights, so I imagined I'd live in a castle. I liked so much those windows, that I wanted to hit L when he broke them, not knowing the windows would be destroyed anyway.

I have always liked to start working before dawn, because there are few interruptions, the air is fresh and you can see how some insects wake up and relieve the nocturnal critters. So, on my first day of work, at eight I had finished conditioning the soil and sowing the fine roses that would embellish the orphanage. To impress my boss, I brought him breakfast and correspondence personally.

Quillsh was reading the newspaper with a worried face. The headlines spoke about the hardships brought by the cyclone.

—You got a letter from Mr. Melbourne —I announced.

—How strange! What could he want from me?

—Can I read it for you?

He nodded, so I began: "Dear Mr. Wammy: I am pleased to invite you to the opening of the second Melbourne factory, which will be located in the new industrial area of Winchester. It will be an honor to have you here next Wednesday 21 at 6:00 PM to share the joy of this success. Sincerely, your friend Thomas Melbourne. "

—It's a shame, but I can't go —my employer said sarcastically—. At that time I have to play chess with my friend Roger Ruvie.

I smiled sheepishly, knowing that other entrepreneurs were able to displace Wammy's products. In a part of his daily he noted: "I feel uninspired to create. I've noticed that my inventions make life easier, but they do not fight the real evil of mankind, which is loneliness. "

Quillsh turned the page, and immediately his expression became jubilant.

—¡Eric Clayton will perform at Dunsfold! He will offer a charity! —exclaimed jumping from his seat, and went in haste to get into his car.

—Are you going to leave without breakfast, Sir? —I cried.

—The tickets are limited —he said, while Ralph the driver started up the vehicle.

I understood his enthusiasm, who did not love Eric Clayton? Such question acquired a dramatic tinge when L found the answer.

That day, my employer did not return. Later I knew he was preparing the property known as "The Lions Mansion", which would serve him as residence during his stay in Winchester.

The next morning, the aristocrat came to the orphanage carrying up two tickets as a sign of victory.

—I did it, Mr. Ruvie! There were no tickets available, but I managed to get these from two friendly gentlemen.

—Did you have to aim at their heads? —I dare to joke.

—This time my rifle wasn't involved —Wammy laughed—. I just had to get the list of attendees, identify among them the ones who owe me money and pay them a "casual" visit in their homes. When they knew how much I want to see the artist, could not refuse to let me have their passes.

—And who will acompany you ? —I asked with excitement.

—I don't know yet. Maybe I'll make a casting —he continued with good humor—. But first I must find the new manager of this place. Could you help me, Mr. Ruvie?

I knew the staff who worked at the orphanage: they were all working people, with a large family to attend, but Wammy needed someone to stay with the boarders 24 hours a day. For a moment I wanted to apply, but I felt unconfident because of my little education. Also, if I'm honest, I have never liked children very much.

On Wednesday we left very early to buy new clothes and books; my boss was planning to give them to the children during the birthday of Willy, the oldest of the thirteen orphans. They were in good health, and their knowledge was acceptable, but my boss lamented that they had no scientific aspirations. I expected at any moment we would go to the inauguration, but at six o'clock we were playing chess as predicted.

"A fire near here!", the children shouted in unison, betwixt excited and terrified to see the morning news. Quillsh and me rushed to the living room and saw the images of the Melbourne II factory being consumed by flames. The incident began at eleven at night, when there was no one inside, as the watchman had gone to investigate a cry for help coming from the outside.

Wammy asked me to take care of the hospice, and headed to the disaster zone. As creator of anti fire systems, the event aroused great interest in him. He came into a roped off area enveloped by smoke of very unpleasant smell. Firefighters had already achieved smother the fire, and were removing debris off the paths. From the big sign with the word "Melbourne" only the letter "L" remained, hanging half charred. Quillsh felt a look at him and turned his head to discover a small figure with a brown coat on top of a neighboring building. The intruder disappeared quickly, and my friend had the urge to go to haunt him until shouts distracted his attention.

—All of you are idiots! I shouldn't have trusted useless people like you! —Thomas Melbourne insulted the policemen flanking him as he left his devastated property. My boss waited for him to go away to request officers to allow him to inspect the ruins; accustomed as he was to go everywhere, never imagined a negative.

—You cannot trespass. —A guardian blocked him.

—Let me look. I'm specialized in this type of disasters. My knowledge could come in handy.

—You can't access. It is a delicate matter. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Quillsh had no choice but to leave. He was about to get into his car, when he remembered the guy with the brown coat. Why the hell was he looking at the ruins? Came to his mind the adage: "the criminal always returns to the crime scene" so he decided to look for him.

Since all the industries of that section had been evacuated as prevention, would not have to be civilians hanging around. Wammy revised the structure where the intruder was, and found that all doors and windows were tightly closed; however, around the building he found several barrels that allowed reaching a ladder to the roof. The floor was covered with charred fragments with a series of footprints confirming that someone went up there and ran away swiftly. For a moment my boss wanted to report the find to the police, but remembered the bad treatment they had given him and decided to continue by himself following the trail down the long corridor of the industrial area. As they left the site, the marks ceased to be light holes in the ash, to become black footprints revealing the fugitive was not wearing shoes.

The tracks ended in a park with traces of soot indicating the pursued one had wiped his feet on the grass. There was no way to continue in his footsteps. It was difficult for a child to burn down an entire factory, so Quillsh thought it was rather a very short man. Knowing that such an individual doesn't usually go unnoticed, he interrogated traders around the garden, but everybody denied seeing the suspect. Feeling tired and hungry, my friend decided to go to the orphanage to eat and comment what happened.

The evening news didn't give better details about the fire; it was said that a failure in the electrical systems had caused it, but Wammy believed that the outsider was the real culprit, so we decided to launch a new investigation. I accompanied my boss to review the way he followed in the morning, but all signs had already been erased. We sat in the park to decide what to do.

—I've thought a lot, Mr. Ruvie, and I conclude the lack of shoes of our suspect may indicate two things: he removed his shoes to make no noise, or he is an indigent, maybe an orphan.

—In that case, we should investigate the second option —I said—. A person without money cannot go very far; however, if we face a professional criminal, it will be almost impossible to find him.

—It's a practical reasoning. I propose to divide us: I will go investigating through the houses of this block, and you will locate potential hiding places.

So we did. I devoted myself to look into alleys, under cars, benches and any place where a child could fit. My partner had estimated his age based on his height.

—Have you seen around here a little boy about eight years, barefoot, using a brown coat? —Quillsh asked an old woman.

—Yes, I have seen him —she replied—. A few hours ago I gave him a sandwich and a drink. I'm glad you're going to take him to the orphanage, because the unfortunate is very skinny.

In the homes of the zone, Mr. Wammy received similar reports, and regretted not having continued his inquiry before. On another street, he found a beautiful beagle that barked frantically until his master went to answer the door.

—That boy is Reizo —declared the resident—. He worked looking for lost pets, but then everyone said that he stole dogs for the reward, and we never saw him again.

Meanwhile, I had found three abandoned buildings in the area. One had a terrible smell of insecticide; it was obvious they had just fumigated. The second had trellises at all entrances and windows, so hardly anyone could enter and exit from there. Reviewing the third, finally found what I wanted: a small child, dressed in a brown coat was kicking the door trying to open it. I walked in silence, but he discovered me and took off running.

—Don't be afraid, my friend! I'm from Wammy's House! Would you like to have dinner with us? —I cried.

—Do you really come from the orphanage? —He said, stoping. His face was very hurt—. I am scared. My parents hit me and I don't want to be with them, but my life in the street has gone very wrong. I'm starving.

I hugged the boy and took him to the car, where Quillsh already was. He opened the door and looked at the tearful kid, but said nothing. All the way, we were silent, until we came to a notary office.

—You can stay with us as long as you want, but it is necessary to do some paperwork. This way your parents cannot recover you by force —told my boss.

The three of us entered the office. In less than an hour, the lawyer drew up a document that allowed us to custody the boy, whose name was John Dunne. Later we went to a hospital for him to have the necessary cures, but since he had nothing serious, we could take him home immediately.

Our orphans were silent while they observed the sad face of the newcomer. They had the bad habit of welcoming with a savage ambush, but that time they kept composure. When John went to bed, he made a gentle smile and said: "Today was my lucky day. In the morning, that boy gave me his coat, and at night, I received a home. "


	4. Three marches militaires

Mister Melbourne's residence was big and ostentatious. The facade newly remodeled proclaimed the growing fortune. Quillsh observed a pair of marble statues flanking the door while waiting for being allowed. Finally, a grumpy maid opened, and the homeowner received him in a magnificent living room.

—Bring a tray of snacks for our guest —Thomas Melbourne ordered the maid—. I want him to notice how well the stoves of our brand cook.

Mr. Wammy sat down and drew up a smile for that fat, sweaty man who did not hide his envy.

—I won't stay for long. I just want us to talk a little about the fire —said the visitor.

—That disaster only tickled us. For sure you know that we are the number one manufacturers in England. In fact, if I weren't terribly busy with my current business, already have opened many more factories. Fortunately, my niece will take care of the new branches.

—Did your factory have anti fire systems?

Thomas Melbourne flushed with anger, but tried to speak calmly.

—Of course was equipped with a very modern one. The problem was that they put a bomb in it.

—A bomb?

—Just like that. Some rival wanted to harm me, and the worst thing is the law seems to be on his side.

—What do you say?

—The police validated the safety of my installations, because regular experts were busy with the great storm. Some officer must have put the damn bomb right in the main generator to overload every device, taking advantage of the still non active camera system.

Melbourne coughed nervously, realizing he had said too much. Both were silent for a while, and then the fat continued:

—As you see, we don't need your services, but I appreciate your kind visit. As bad as your business is going, of course you want to make sales everywhere.

Mr. Wammy didn't respond. The notes of a piano had reached his ears.

—¿Three Marches militaires? That score is for four hands. Who is playing?

The sound of the doorbell interrupted the scene, and behind the maid four sympathetic little girls entered carrying music books. Then, a beautiful woman appeared in the room to receive them.

—Ah! Hi! —exclaimed her when saw the guest—. Sorry, didn't know you were here. I am Elizabeth, Mister Melbourne's niece.

Quillsh squeezed the hand offered to him, feeling his heart trying to get out of his chest. He wasn't even able to introduce himself.

—This is Mr. Wammy —said the host, and after a thoughtful pause, he added with extremely friendly attitude: "This gentleman is one of the most successful men in the country. His wit and fortune cannot be compared. "

—Schubert —the aforementioned said babbling—. It was you who played?

—Oh, yes —the lady said—. I teach piano. Right now my class begins —she said, hugging the girls.

—Would you like to accompany them? —proposed Thomas, surprising his guest.

—Oh, well. Yes, for a moment —Wammy managed to answer—. As long as I do not discomfort them.

The troubled man was taken to a large and luxurious lounge crowned by a black Steinway. The students performed melodies of Beethoven, Mozart and Liszt; despite their age, they were good artists. When the review was over, Elizabeth turned to the viewer.

—Now it's your turn. Play something for us.

Quillsh mechanically sat at the piano and with trembling hands got the first notes of his favorite piece.

—I wanted to practice this opus, but I needed another pair of hands—said the teacher—. Let's play together!

Wammy handed the seat and approached another bank to stand beside her, but when he looked closely at her long golden hair, her perfectly smooth face and captivating green eyes, felt his strength failed him.

—I am very sorry, but I must go. I forgot that I have a meeting —he said standing up suddenly.

Elizabeth smirked and shook his hand in farewell.

—Come back as soon as you can. The melody won't complete without you.

When my boss told me his adventure, his face became red. It was obvious he liked the lady very much. Having a new motivation to continue his search, he went to see the Chief Inspector Albert Collingwood, who was the son of a friend. The unit he ran was the one involved in the Melbourne factory incident. With affable smile and jolly-looking, he received the great inventor.

—It's a pleasure to have you here, sir. How can I help you?

—I'm worried about you, boy. I have heard serious rumors.

—For sure you are referring to that of the bomb. I see the details have been released.

—Then is true that there was an explosive?

—Yes, and we are under the magnifying glass; the bomb had controlled detonation, and it's virtually impossible it had arrived before or after our inspection. It had to be _during_.

—What about the nightstand?

—Everything pointed to him as responsible, until a witness reported hearing the screams that the other spoke. His report coincided in every detail: it was the call of a woman saying, "Help me, Michael!"

—That does not exempt him from responsibility.

—But it doesn't make sense that he wanted to become unemployed. In addition, these weapons are the work of terrorists, or at least people with knowledge of chemistry and electronics. The poor Michael did not even finish primary school.

—What about your subordinates? Are all legit?

—The four men who came to the revision enjoy my complete confidence; they have worked many years by my side and they even have been honored. Their record is clean. None of them would have been capable of such barbarity.

The conversation continued for about an hour. The agent told his visitor the trajectory of each one of his subordinates, and Wammy praised them all. Eventually they exchanged a warm hug, and everyone left to continue their activities.

Outside was falling a thin but very cold rain, so the atmosphere was foggy. While Quillsh opened his umbrella, he saw in the other side of the sidewalk a small child who ran off. The way he did it reminded the pattern of footprints that had investigated, but could not see if he wore shoes. John wasn't the suspect we were looking for, that was quite clear, and it was obvious that we should not be guided by the brown coat.

"Reizo!", Mr. Wammy shouted, but the boy had disappeared as if by magic.

My boss attended Mass twice the following Sunday. He participated in the first ceremony very early when we took our orphans to church, and then went to the chapel of the colony where we seek the mysterious boy. He was hoping to see him among parishioners, or find it at the exit begging, but had no luck. Deep in thought, my friend walked by.

Quoting him: "I would never have imagined doing so many strange things during that trip to Winchester. It seemed as if my usual self had stayed in London and I would be forced to reinvent me to survive a series of unexpected events. "

But he didn't care only about the fugitive; Elizabeth had also taken over his head. How old was she? The lady was obviously much younger than him. What would be the story of his life? where she had learned to play so well, to speak so well, to dress so well? Everything about her seemed perfect, in contrast to his own person. He considered himself withered, and was terrified that someone could discover the big emptiness inside him.

Wammy came back to reality when bumped with the highest building in the area, the one where I found John. The front door turned out to be pretty solid, but it was not difficult to climb up to a broken window. My friend was afraid to be caught in the maneuver; he could imagine the headline in the newspapers: "Mr. Wammy becomes a vandal." The interior of the place was very humid, which made it unattractive to settle, but still, the explorer decided to check out the five floors. As there was no electricity, he walked groping steps and walls, feeling stupid for what he did. He was about to leave when he heard something dripping, and following the sound came across a closed room almost invisible in the darkness.

The orphanage children like to play with pieces of twisted metal whose challenge is to disentangle them in the shortest time possible. I mention this because the door was stuck with one of those toys. When Quillsh unmade the contraption, discovered an exceptionally clean bathroom that even had toilet paper and soap. The shower floor was still wet. Finding the access hatch to the roof, Wammy rejoiced: another set of wires announced there was more to be seen. Upon crossing the threshold he found a house made of plastic bottles, assembled with such a design and proportions, that it was totally waterproof and invisible from the street. Inside there was a pillow marked with two bare little feet, plus a disposable tray with some food, a water bottle and a pile of books, notebooks and pencils. Everything was very clean and tidy. My friend dared to examine the objects in pursuit of information about its owner. He found "The case book of Sherlock Holmes" alongside with the T, U and V volumes of an encyclopedia boring the stamp of the Stanmore library. The vessel showed the logo of a restaurant that was close by. The notebooks seemed to came out of the trash, because the covers were damaged and most pages contained school notes from two years ago. In the last sheets, however, appeared different notations made with different calligraphy, such as Japanese cities, skin diseases and transport terminals in England. Everything seemed normal until a folded paper fell between the pages: it was a bill with names of chemicals and their price. The part where the store and buyer data should be, had been torn, but there remained a "b" and "s" annotated by hand. The inventor sighed with concern as substances registered there were used to make bombs.

It rained again, so Quillsh packed the note in his pocket. He deduced that the inhabitant would return soon for shelter, but seeing their locks removed would not approach. It was necessary to plan a better way to capture him. At least he knew where he bought their food and what reading center visited, so he tried to put things in their original position and retreated. He was already linking the wires when reasoned that the books should have been stolen, because can not be taken for external loan without a residency proof, so he returned to retrieve them.

My friend had to wait until Monday to go to the library. In the crystals of the entrance stood out a poster notifying that place kept the notebooks of Louis Bennett, a distinguished scientist who died recently. The notes would be reproduced and made available to the public the following month. Wammy thought his rivals would progress having that information, but did not mind too much; his ship was sinking, but what really interested him was to see certain mermaid again.

When Quillsh left the volumes on the desk, the librarian gasped:

—Where did you get those books? We've searched for them so much!

—They were in a dumpster —lied him—. Is there a record of the person who borrowed?

—Not at all. I guess you have not heard about "The midnight reader."

—No, but I would like to learn.

One day, at the start of my shift, I found the volume Q, R and S of the same encyclopedia and "The last bow" on my desk. That was very strange, because I'm always the last to leave and put everything on its place. The books were wet, but the library has no leaks, and no one had asked for external loan. Reviewing the lock, we discovered it had been forced, so we put a nightstand, but then realized we were missing the titles that you just brought. "The midnight reader" could not return them while there was surveillance.

The girl looked thoughtful for a moment and continued:

—I liked that intruder. If he had left the wet texts on the shelves, we would have never discovered him, but the materials would have spoiled. That spoke of his love for culture; I do not understand how he was able to leave the others in a dump. How disappointing!

Mr. Wammy had to agree to hold his lie, and then went to browse the rest of the looted encyclopedia, trying to determine why attracted the mysterious boy.

Finishing early my floriculture works, in the afternoon I usually was bored, so I developed a habit of playing with the children of the hospice. I couldn't reach them in football, but helped them to solve jigsaws or narrated stories. Our benefactor arrived just when I was telling "The Golden Bird" tale, so he sat next to the kids and waited for me to finish. Later, he told me that day's story.

—Maybe he's just trying to return home. Otherwise, why would be collecting data on cities and transportation? —I concluded after hearing his report.

—I had that same thought, but we still need to explain his presence in the burnt area and the bill he had with him.

—Well, maybe that paper already was in notebooks when he picked them up. On the other hand, the fire must have caused him curiosity.

—I think you're right: I have been unfair to him. I'll bring him candies and a pair of shoes. As he can read, I'll also leave him a letter to try to gain his trust. Could you come with me, Roger?

—Sure, boss —I replied.

—I'd like you to call me just Quillsh. You are my confidant, and as such I should treat you.

I nodded, feeling flattered, and headed toward Reizo's abode.

Someone who didn't know well Mr. Wammy, might have thought his mental abilities began to fail, for we find no trace of the findings that he mentioned, and even the bathroom was covered in dust.

—You may be thinking I'm going crazy —he said—. And maybe you're right.

—Of course not. It's just that boy is too clever. Now I do consider him suspicious.

My companion dried his face, which was drenched in sweat. I cleared the window and motioned to get out.

—Wouldn't be better if you left this in the hands of the police? —I said once outside.

—It's true: I must finish the task that brought me here to return to London soon.

His announcement saddened me, but I didn't express it; we left the gifts there and walked silently away from the aging building.

We didn't talk again about the strange events until early Wednesday, when we learned that the Stanmore library was in flames. Despite his intention of not to involve again, my boss walked over there, so I decided to go with him desiring to be useful. I imagined we were some kind of Sherlock and Watson.

When we arrived, the building was still burning, which was logical given the amount of flammable material. A few meters, the librarian cried leaning on a fire truck, but when he saw my mate, ran to him.

—Bennett documents are lost! The anti fire systems didn't work!

—That's a pity, but you should feel happy for escaping unharmed.

—I wasn't there. The fire started at six o'clock.

—Is the nightstand all right?

—Since 10 p.m. he has been in the health center because of a strong stomachache.

My boss told me to visit the sick man while he analyzed the facade destroyed. The glasses had burst without leaving fragments on the sidewalk and the wall had a large star-shaped patch. Inside, there were some charred shelves, but the ones to the bottom showed less combustion. Among the ashes was a piece of a poster announcing: "Classical music recital on Wednesday 28 from 5:30. Four rising piano players will delight us with pieces by Beethoven, Mozart and ". the rest of the ad was missing.

When we met again at the orphanage in the evening, we exchanged our information; I told him that the guardian had felt ill after eating a sandwich found in the library, and as the pain grew stronger, he had to leave his post to seek help. I also learned that the police had a list of people who may have left the detrimental food. All readers were known in the neighborhood, but one who signed up as "Leopold Blummer."

Wammy shared with me his impressions: everything pointed a bomb had been detonated from the outside and the fire had jumped to the pile of paper thanks to the failure of the defective safety systems. He shuddered to imagine the attack could have happened during the concert, with the small pianists present, who were undoubtedly the students of Elizabeth.

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


	5. The birthday of the boy from Disneyland

I didn't know I had so many skills until I met Mr. Wammy. Under his orders I had to act as a gardener, nanny, chef, teacher, detective and even actor.

After the episode of the Stanmore library, my boss spent two days at the lions' mansion; he was determined to return to the Melbourne residence, so he had to refresh his technique on the piano. Meanwhile, I fulfilled his request to investigate about Elizabeth in the small archive of the town, but found not a line about her. In contrast, about Mr. Thomas there was a lot of information; newspapers spoke of his business and scandalous divorce. I got clear he was childless, and his only brother, who had to be the father of the beauty, lay abroad.

Not wanting to disappoint my employer, I made a crazy plan: waited for Melbourne's maid to come out and pretended that I fell.

—Sir, sir! What is it? —she cried, while she held me.

—I'm very dizzy. I think my blood pressure is low. Could you help me get into that coffee shop? —I pointed to a nearby place—. I need a drink with sugar.

The girl helped me to settle in a table. I ordered hot chocolate and a milkshake for her.

—Do not bother, sir. I'm going home —she warned.

—Please stay with me while I recover. If needed, I can pay you—. I put money on the table and she sat down.

—Thanks, but that's not necessary. We must do well without looking at whom —she declared smiling, but after an hour ate his words and ended up taking the tip. It was well spent money, because the girl was a consummate gossip. So I knew that at first Thomas had been very upset by the arrival of Elizabeth, but later he had even hired a very handsome guard named Robert Gibbs to take care of her. The maid criticized her love for grooming, considering that at thirty years should be resigned to being single, and also mentioned that Miss Melbourne had been very frightened by the recent disasters, since she would assume the leadership of the destroyed factory.

The following Saturday I gave my report; Quillsh heard everything very carefully and then, blushing, ordered me to get a bunch of roses.

—The sprouts I planted are already blooming. Anyway, should I buy more? —I asked, puzzled.

—They are not for the garden. I want them wrapped in cellophane with a bow —he replied with a timid voice —. I'll make a visit.

I felt sad because he didn't share with me his affective interests, but I had no right to demand an explanation, so I went to the market and bought a crimson flower dozen, fresh as newly opened. When I handed them to my boss, I could not contain myself and said, "Elizabeth will love the present", but even so he didn't confess his love.

Who would imagine the present wouldn't reach its addressee? When Wammy returned to the artist home, was empty handed. At the last moment he decided to leave the gift in his car because he lost the courage for expressing his affection.

—Hello, Mr. Wammy! —the pianist greeted with excitement—. I've waited for you to come!

Quillsh briefly shook hands with the lady; was sweating so much.

—I brought some scores —he said, showing some books to hide his nervousness.

—Wonderful! The afternoon is very nice, and there's no better way to spend it than playing.

I verbatim reproduce a part of the diary; nothing like the words of the protagonist to describe that occasion:

"In the piano lounge strict silence reigned. It seemed that everything conspired to make my wild heart beats audible. The polished black surface of the instrument reflected the beautiful Elizabeth in her satin dress, and me spellbound at his side, like a vision obtained through the mirror of dreams. I could hardly breathe, but I didn't mind dying if it was in her company. She sat with noble gesture and began to press the keys "to prepare the hands", but what I heard was not a warming, but a masterpiece of coordination and musical sensitivity. Contemplating her execution I felt the weight of his prodigious mind as a child amazed by the infinite extension of the ocean. When I took the seat she'd arranged for me, I could see in his eyes strength of rebirth, like that of a phoenix. We played Schubert with great affect, as if every note wove a new world that would be just for us. There was much sync between her hands, delicate and young, with mine, old and decadent, that for a moment the barriers between her and me vanished. Such is the power of music. "

The text gave no further details about the meeting, but jumped to the time when Mr. Wammy was on the roof of the lions' mansion, watching the sunset:

"That day my life changed. I thought I knew everything, but in reality I was helpless against a barrage of unfamiliar feelings. Even my titles and awards could not fight my personal misery. I felt no right to aspire to such a flourishing and radiant woman, because in the background I always considered myself as a loser who didn't even deserve the air I breathed. When it started raining, I was not able to move; the drops running down my body seemed to come from another dimension."

So disturbed was my friend, which was not surprised to find a child beside him who naturally said: "Good evening, Mr. Wammy. My name is L ", and then gave him a curious business card. With very nice handwritten it said: "Reizo Goto. Private Detective." Quillsh carefully observed the newcomer: he was thin and pale, and his hair was a mess. He wore shirt with tie and trousers rich alike, but didn't use shoes or socks.

—Here says your name is Reizo —rebuked the adult.

—I use a pseudonym to avoid mockery from foolish people, but you have not laughed hearing my real name. That confirms what I already knew.

—And what do you know?

—That you are an educated and cultured, plus sensible gentleman. To appreciate a good rain a special spirit is needed.

Wammy was comforted to hear that opinion, because he felt silly for being soaking. The boy continued:

— I have been following you during ten days, and you have shown intelligence and good judgment when finding my hiding place and taking care of the books I couldn't return. Since you value knowledge, you're just the partner I want.

My friend shuddered when learned he had been spied all that time. His interlocutor seemed to notice.

—Please don't take it personal; if you don't want to be the prey, you have to become a hunter. Let me explain: I need an adult to help me to travel and collect information; it's very difficult to research on my own.

L pulled off of his pants a plastic bag that held several coins and resumed:

—Of course I'll pay you. My business is going bad, but I have saved enough.

They must have looked very ridiculous holding such a conversation under a storm, but the kid wasn't disturbed.

—What do you say? Do you agree?

—How old are you, boy?

—Today just fill up eight.

—Where are your parents?

—I'm lost, that's why I need your help.

—Of course I'll support you, but first we have to dry off or we will get sick.

Quillsh sent the kid to take a hot shower while he dressed up a pajama, but later repented to left alone a visitor with such a bad record.

—Come in, Mr. Wammy —L said when heard hitting the door. His host was amazed to discover him washing himself fully clothed.

—What a strange way of showering! —He exclaimed.

—Always I do so. It's annoying putting off what we will put on later; anyway, I still have to wash my clothes.

Immediately my boss prepared a tub full of bubbles, undressed him and laid him on the lather; he found not any hiding weapons. The guest accepted undeterred to be washed.

—Nobody ever taught you to bathe? —the adult chided.

—My aunt had many children to attend, and I had to do it myself.

—How many cousins do you have?

—Those kids weren't my family.

Fearing touching an uncomfortable subject, Quillsh decided to change the conversation:

—Where do you live now? I brought you candy to your shelter.

—I cannot eat sweets. Mom says that spoil the teeth.

—That's why dentists exist. Today it's your birthday, and we'll enjoy a delicious cake.

Luckily he had in the fridge the cake bought for Willy.

—I've never tried this kind of treat. Do you commit, Mr. Wammy, to repair my teeth in case of damage? —L said so seriously, that his host had to hold back the laughter.

—I guarantee it will be wonderful —Quillsh replied, and then pulled the child from the water to cover him with a robe. When drying his feet, he realized that was badly mistreated, so he gave a massage.

—Why you don't wear shoes? —he asked.

—I'm not used to. I put on a pair for the first time a couple of years or so ago. They are noisy. A detective requires stealth.

—I noticed you like Sherlock Holmes.

—Those stories are very interesting and instructive, but have a defect: they are not real. I hate fictional things.

He didn't sound as a criminal but like an enlightened dement. With each answer, he gained sympathy from the inventor, who took him to see the clothes destined to the orphanage. The boy rushed over a white long-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans.

—This looks so clean! —he exclaimed ecstatically.

Quillsh told him that those clothes were not his size, but he was already wearing them and pirouetted around the room.

—What a comfort! I can move freely!

—It's my gift for your day.

—Thank you. In all my birthdays I received clothes, except the last.

—What you got then?

—Nothing. I had already got lost.

My boss was saddened to learn he had been so much time alone.

—But I got the best of gifts, when I became three years old—continued L—. They revealed my name.

Nothing he said made sense, so Quillsh took him to the dining room to place the candles on the cake. The celebrated looked at him steadily as he heard the "Happy Birthday" and turned the eight lights off with his fingers before he could be stopped.

—Now cut your dessert —ordered Mr. Wammy handing him a knife, but seeing him brandishing the weapon felt a chill running down his back. The offended boy dropped the utensil and left the table.

—It's obvious that you don't trust me, so we can't make business. You misunderstand me: I hang around places visited by the law because I'm looking for certain policeman, and if I stared so intently at the remaining L signboard, was because I thought it might be a message from my mother, who besides you and my aunt, it's the only person who knows my real name.

—You don't need to clarify. Come, dear, let's eat.

—If you don't suspect me, why did you take the bill? I couldn't have bought these chemicals, as they never sell them to someone of my age.

—Then, why did you have that note?

—It's evidence. I found it in the place where he kept me kidnapped.

He was pouring a huge amount of absurd data, but somehow he transmitted honesty. Not wanting him to go away, Quillsh calmed and decided to play along.

—It's better if we talk after dinner.

—Please don't waste my time. If you are not interested in my proposal, I'm leaving right now.

In response, my boss put a spoonful of cake in his mouth, and then a transformation occurred: L eyes shone, while his person changed from gray to a whole range of colors in seconds. "This is the most delicious I've ever tasted in my life," he said while chewing, and ordered another portion, and then another, and another, until the dessert disappeared. His companion feared that he could get indigested, but he didn't dare to restrict him because he looked very happy.

—This is the life you deserve: full of candy, games and good things. Let us adults handle everything else.

—I'm sorry I exalted me before, Mr. Wammy. You have been very kind. I can assume we're friends now, right?

—Count on it, but you have to promise not to go away from me until we find your mother, right?

L reflected a moment and nodded. While he brushed his teeth, the owner of the house conditioned two beds in the guest room to sleep together.

—Well, now we will rest —commanded Quillsh as he locked the room.

—His caution seems useless —the child cynically said—. How do you think I got in your roof? I'm an breaking locks expert.

Quillsh was surprised by that brazen affirmation.

—I've come to a conclusion, Mr. Wammy —L continued with grim countenance—. You won't trust me until the author of the fires is behind bars.

—It's very simple to prove your innocence: you will remain in my orphanage twenty-four hours, and if something bad happens again, I'll know it was not you.

—I can't stand idly while bombs are still thundering out there. I'm a detective.

—What shall we do then?

—Tell me what you know about the case.

My friend confided everything we had learned and soon fell asleep, but the child was more active than ever and prowled through the mansion until he found the library; at dawn, he had finished reviewing half of the acquis.

—So you're still here, huh?—his host said after discovering him crouching on a pile of books.

—It was a very rewarding night. You have a good collection.

—No wonder you have those dark rimmed eyes. Do you ever rest?

—Thirst for knowledge is stronger than sleep.

When the inventor returned the texts to the shelves, he realized that the boy had chosen many written in French.

—You know languages? —he asked.

—In the orphanage I was taught English.

His partner gathered all his patience to listen extravagances again.

—Didn't you say you lived with your aunt?

—Mom and she spoke French, and the guy who kidnapped me, English. I couldn't understand anything he told me, but I was caught by Joy Farm and there I learned this country's language.

The shelter referred by L was a small farm on the outside of the city.

—You were in Joy Farm?

—I'm not pleased to remember that; I think their goal is not to protect children but to get free labor.

—I'd like you to tell me more, but first let's have breakfast.

—Will there be more cake? —L asked full of excitement.

—No, but we'll eat something also delicious.

The elegant gentleman went to the kitchen to prepare hot cakes. The last time he did it was along his mother, decades ago. L helped to wash all utensils, and enthusiastically ate the pancakes after bathing them with unreal amounts of jam and maple syrup.

—Now tell me: How was your life in the orphanage?—Quillsh asked, wishing to resume the conversation.

—I'm sorry, but I must go—L said, heading for the exit.

—Our deal was that you stay with me.

—I need to trust you; if you let me go now, you will show you are dependable.

—Today we celebrate the birthday of Willy with many treats.

—Well, maybe I can visit you.

Wammy ran into a bookcase and pulled out a Polaroid, which he handed to the child.

—We'll need someone to take photos.

—Can you pick me up at 10:30 outside the cathedral?

—Of course. See you there.

L embraced the device and ran without looking back. He disappeared so fast, that was not possible to see which path he took. My boss wrote: "I was begging to heaven that fascinating kid was a good person and we could meet again."

Shortly after, the inventor and I bought supplies for the party, and then went to the designated church. He was very anxious and kept patrolling the green square with his eyes, but after an hour he sadly ordered to leave; however, when we reached the car, we were surprised by the flash of a camera. "Please forgive I didn't show myself before, but I had to make sure you would not bring the police. I already analyzed this puny gentleman, and realized I shouldn't be afraid of him", said the boy while pointing at me in the snapshot, so he instantly won my hatred. To make it worse, he took the seat next to Quillsh, initiating a process of gradually displacing me. When we got off the limousine, it was snowing, so my friend covered his protégé with coat and scarf. They stopped to contemplate the majestic facade of Wammy's House, and just then the bells of all Winchester ringed in unison to announce noon; I realized between those two something magical happened. Ralph and I recovered the gifts from the vehicle, while they walked ahead, but a neighbor headed off Mr. Wammy and I was forced to take L's hand to lead him inside.

"You shouldn't be jealous of me, Mr. Ruvie. I'll leave very soon", he dared to say. I tweaked his wrist out of anger, and he ran to the interior, where orphans were already waiting to give him the traditional welcome: "A new face! Let's cuddle him!" they screamed, jumping on him.

The scene our benefactor found was frightening: the kids were lying scattered around the house, for the newcomer had knocked them using his extraordinary ability to fight.

—They started it all —he justified himself—. They used violence against me and I had to make justice.

Needless to say, no photos of that party were taken, as children were swollen and angry. It was necessary to keep L in a separate room, but he wasn't bothered because spent the day playing with jigsaws, toys he never enjoyed before.

—If you have to leave, please do it now —Quillsh said to his guest when twilight came—. It's dangerous for you to walk alone in the dark.

—Now that I confirmed your good intentions, I'd like to stay. This place is very different from Joy Farm.

—You can live here as long as you like, but about the other kids...

—If they annoy me again, I'll hit them harder. Don't worry, Mr. Wammy.

The next day, I created a file for the boarder number 15, to archive his documents once he was under our custody; we wanted him to be formally dressed for the occasion, but he refused to put on his old suit.

—I don't want to use it. I'll wait until my white shirt gets dry.

—What's the matter? You dressed like that before—my boss scolded.

—I needed to hide I lived on the street.

We had to wait until the favorite outfit was ready, and later we bought many identical items to avoid complains.

The lawyer who attended the notary laughed when we told him the boy's name.

—I can only write real names in a record—he explained.

—Then start typing. It is a capital L—the aforementioned interjected angrily.

—When his parents appear we'll confirm the data —alleged Mr. Wammy—. Furthermore, no law prohibits that appellation.

—What is your surname? —the notary asked while typing.

The three of us looked at each other not knowing what to say, but in the end the kid dared to consult:

—Can I use the name of my mother?

—How is her last name? —the lawyer asked.

—I only know she's named Law.

—¿Law? Are you sure? —my surprised patron questioned.

—It's correct. That's how my aunt and I always called her.

—What do you think if you are enrolled as "L Lawliet"? A few days ago I heard that surname and found it very nice —Wammy suggested.

—So okay —anticipated the lawyer, booking the data—. Who is the father?

—Mihael Jackson —L replied.

The actuary deep breath and took off his glasses.

—I don't have time for joking.

—Please write only L Lawliet, everything else leave it blank. Later we'll get his true documents —Mr. Wammy decided.

Half an hour later we left with the peculiar record in our hands, and then my boss scolded his protégé:

—You must stop teasing. Not everyone likes them your sense of humor.

—Actually, I hate jokes, but I hate more to be unfairly scolded —L said angrily.

Our next stop was a medical office, where they reviewed the boy to find up why he didn't sleep and was so pale.

—Don't you go out to play under the sun? —the doctor asked.

—I suffered an illness that kept me from being outside. I think is called Xeroderma Pigmentosum.

—It cannot be, that has no cure. Right now you should show irritation.

Quillsh received a call and excused himself to go out to answer.

—We have to make some deeper analysis —continued the Galen—. In addition, it would be interesting to apply an intelligence test.

—We know he doesn't look very smart —I said with disguised scorn, whereupon L looked at me with evil eyes.

—On the contrary: I think he is extremely intelligent. If you don't give him special education, he won't develop his skills.

—Is there any questionnaire to diagnose madness? —I asked to continue bothering.

—Mr. Roger wants to know how his head is —the child intervened.

—Do you see what I meant? He is very sharp! —the laughing doctor exclaimed—. Don't worry about his sleep issues, because geniuses like Leonardo Da Vinci had strange break schemes.

As we left the clinic with the score against me, I whispered to my boss that the boy had mental problems, but my revenge was in vain because he asked Ralph to take us to a records store, arguing that music would be the best therapy. On the counter was a large poster that promoted the new Eric Clayton record, and L ran to it.

—My mother and I are his biggest fans! —he declared, so his benefactor bought the new album for him.

Once in Wammy's House, magical guitars sounded blaring.

—Mom loves this song —said the detective, while "I shot the police" was playing.

—And which one is your favorite? —Quillsh asked.

—It's not included in this CD, but I feel "Can't have a Way Home" describes my current situation.

—If she doesn't accept to go with me, I'd like you to accompany me to the next concert —Wammy said, blushing.

—She? Oh, I got it! The roses' addressee. What is her name?

—How do you know so much?

—It's a simple deduction. You would deliver the bouquet, but your relented and left it in the car. If that wasn't a romantic affair you wouldn't have acted so shy.

—I see I can't hide anything from you. Her name is Elizabeth Melbourne.

Quillsh noted: "L was so direct and honest, that I couldn't help but open my heart at him. When he listened to me, it seemed that none of my concerns was absurd." I felt very envious because he never intimated so much with me.

The little detective listened attentively to the story about the lady, and then made another of his puzzling questions:

—How much money would you be willing to invest to solve the case of the bombs?

—All the necessary, if that can make her safe.

—You should ask her out, Mr. Wammy. The chances of acceptance are greater than ninety percent.

—How can you be so sure?

—Call her now, and say you will meet her tomorrow at seven. You will enjoy a dessert in "Delight", the café shop near the firehouse.

My boss was persuaded and phoned the Melbourne house. Great was his joy when the lady not only took the call, but accepted the proposal willingly.

—You're a great counselor —Wammy thanked when he hung up.

—Then follow my instructions exactly as I say: you will pick up the lady at six, not seven, as agreed.

—That would be discorteous.

—It's absolutely necessary to change the time and take the main avenue. Once in Delight, sit next to the entrance, being easily visible from outside. Mr. Ralph must drive four times around the block and then go to park the car in the lane number three. It's very important not to leave anything valuable inside the vehicle.

—I wouldn't like him to wait in such a lonely place.

—Actually, it's necessary that the driver leaves the car and takes a taxi to continue circulating near the cafeteria. If done as indicated, the date will be a success.

—That doesn't sound romantic at all.

—There is a high probability that you can even embrace your loved one if all goes as I planned, Mr. Wammy.

Quillsh blushed and stopped arguing, since he found in the boy courage to take the important initiative.

—I'm going to buy a new outfit. Is there something you'd like me to bring you?

— I'm eager for trying more difficult puzzles.

—I'll get you one with thousands of pieces.

—Could you also bring me more books?

—Sure. Any special topic?

—I'd like to learn Japanese.

Quillsh left toward the center of Winchester; while reviewing the windows couldn't stop thinking about the day ahead of him, and the boy who orchestrated it. His sharpness for certain things combined with their absurd statements, suggested a psychological imbalance, but it was also possible he was trying to hide a terrible family history under a pile of lies.

Wammy's House had become a battleground since the arrival of number fifteen boarder. Orphans spent the day planning ways to get revenge at him, and several times I had to break up their plots. Personally, I would've loved to give him a hard time, but my boss made me promise to protect him. To make my work easier, I decided to confine him in his room, but anyway it was enough to throw to him a lot of sweets and books to get him quiet. Occasionally he played his favorite album and sang; that was creepy.

On Tuesday, Quillsh didn't visit the orphans' home, but phoned his favorite one.

—Horrible brat, you got a call! —I announced.

Apparently my boss needed moral support for what he was about to do, but L simply told him that everything would be fine if they follow his provisions. When returned to his room, he said to me: —My mother is very beautiful. I don't think I'm ugly—. Before closing the door he added —: By the way, I had my hands full of chocolate, but I managed to avoid damaging the phone.

I discovered my hat stained and sticky besides the appliance. I wanted to hit the rascal, but I couldn't find him, because he'd tricked me to escape.

I was very worried, but L returned a few hours later and told me quite naturally: "Mr. Wammy needs a relaxing tea ", and after that, he locked himself in his bedroom. Almost immediately entered my boss accompanied by Ralph, both pale as dead.

—You will not believe what happened, Roger. Turn on the television.

By tuning the news I saw a charred car. My heart skipped a beat when I identified it.

—Blimey! Is yours! Are you all right?

The survivors collapsed on the armchairs while the cook brought them a sedative. I sent the kids to sleep, and as soon the field was clear, the detective showed himself.

—I'm glad that everything turned out the way I planned —he said quietly.

—Enough already of your stupid jokes! —I exclaimed and took his arm to get him out of the room, but Wammy stopped me.

—Leave him, Roger. He owes us some explanations.

—Before you scold me, I remind you that you were willing to spend whatever for the research —L defended himself—. It was a shame to sacrifice such a nice car, but it was worth it, because now we have pretty valuable information.

Quillsh jumped off the couch.

—Then you know what would happen?

—I had a theory, and now I know it is correct. In fact, I was close to see the face of the bomber.

—What do you say? Were you there?

—Yes. I watched the car from a roof, but a lady found me and I had to flee. It was a lucky mishap, because the explosion was stronger than I expected. I didn't think it would damage so much the cafeteria.

—If the fire station hadn't been so close, it would have been a major disaster!

—Indeed. That is why I suggested going to Delight.

My boss went outside looking for fresh air, because he felt troubled digesting the facts. L overtook him.

—Are you mad, Mr. Wammy?

—You should have called the police instead of exposing people.

—We cannot count on them; remember they are under suspicion. Anyway, thanks to my method we know the wrongdoer is after Miss Elizabeth.

—You have to explain everything, and you better be right.

The gentleman followed L to his room. The boy had there series of maps and notes which helped him to illustrate:

—Between the first incidents there were some points in common: both happened on Wednesday and the offender tried not to cause casualties, but seems like he wasn't financially benefited. If he were a rival for Mr. Thomas Melbourne, the most logical thing he would have done was to attack the parent plant, which is larger; the destroyed building newly opened, and it didn't have inside finished products. Analyzing the case of the library, it's easy to notice that neither brought some profit: Louis Bennett documents could have been used to develop new technologies; it would've been wiser to steal them. For these reasons I discarded the theory of an envious entrepreneur.

—Then who is him?

—The bombings seem to be a way to attract attention; something like a child's tantrum or blackmail between lovers. The bandit didn't want to ruin the physical places, but what those sites represent —. L dramatically knocked down a house made of cookies for emphasis to his statement and continued—: I was missing an important piece of the puzzle, until you talked about Miss Elizabeth, who undoubtedly is connected with the pair of attacks: she'd run the new factory, and the girls who'd offer the recital are his students. Also you said your girlfriend is very beautiful; men become unhinged often for a woman like that.

—She's not my girlfriend.

—Perhaps she will be later. Tell me, did you get to hug her?

Quillsh choked; yes, he had achieved. Fleeing off the coffee in flames, he protected her with his arms.

—What has that to do with the investigation?

—Actually, nothing. But don't forget that we're friends besides partners. I want you to be happy.

—Let's continue with the case.

—As I said, the facts suggest there is someone close to the lady, who provides information to the bomber, or is the delinquent himself. Otherwise, how would he know the change of time? Having Mr. Robert Gibbs as guard, it's unlikely that the residence was spied from outside.

—Now that you mention, I saw him yesterday; he is a very handsome guy. He didn't escort us because he had to help a friend in trouble.

—He's very likely to be the snitch. You should be careful until we verify this. Let me continue explaining my plan: the schedule change served to make sure there is a spy, and I knew a circus would parade at six.

—It's true. So there was a lot of traffic.

—That was my intention. The criminal has left no trace, which shows that he worries about being caught. He wouldn't attack in the middle of a traffic jam, with many witnesses there.

—What if you were wrong?

—I told you already that crazy man won't destroy Miss Elizabeth, only to the things that matter to her. Surely he loves her.

—Please continue your report.

—As we didn't know how our suspect moves, I had Mr. Ralph spinning around Delight allowing the vehicle to be located. It was an easy target, and the guy took the bait. By the way, what time exploded the bomb?

—At seven.

—I think he arrived by car, since he didn't look agitated. He was tall and thin, and moved limping his left leg.

—Then he wasn't Robert Gibbs, because he is robust and walks with ease.

—Perhaps they are accomplices.

—Now that I think, no longer saw the guard when I brought Elizabeth home.

—We'll have to think of something to protect your girl, Mr. Wammy. Maybe they won't kill her, but they could kidnap her.

Quillsh meditated in silence for a while, and then stroked the boy's head.

—You are really clever. I'm surprised.

—Will you begin to take me seriously?

At that point, I interrupted to bring them some tea.

—Please get me a taxi, Roger. I'll go home —my employer said rejecting the drink.

—Can I sleep with you, Mr. Wammy? Mr. Ruvie is eager to thrash me —L accused.

—It's very dangerous to go outside now —I pointed out, diverting the topic.

—There's cops everywhere trying to prevent another bombing, and besides, I will be accompanied by a secret agent —Quillsh assured, and left with the flattered child.

Wednesday was a day of terror; businesses and schools were closed as prevention against another possible attack. I couldn't stop worrying about my friend safety, and was also jealous, so I phoned him to warn not to trust the kid. Wammy told me I shouldn't worry, and after my call he asked his guest:

—Are you truly afraid of Roger?

—Not really. I just wanted to come here because of the new books and puzzles. I must learn Japanese as soon as possible.

—I can teach you. As a member of the intelligence service, studied the languages of our enemies during the war. But tell me: why do you want to learn that?

—I think Mom is in Tokyo. She said we lived in Disneyland.

—I guess you don't know there's another park with that name in Anaheim, California.

—It's horrible to be so ignorant! —L exclaimed tearing his hair until Wammy stopped him.

—Please calm down. Do you remember when did she say that?

—During my third birthday.

—That must have been in 1982, but Tokyo Disneyland was opened in 1983. I went to the opening myself.

—Then she was referring to America —the detective concluded, and stayed thinking awhile, then continued—: Anyway, I have elements to guess we were located in Japan: at home we didn't wear shoes, and children who visited us spoke in a language I didn't understand.

—Did they have oriental features?

—I never could see them. It was forbidden to go out of my room when there were people.

—Was it because of your illness?

—Mom said a monster was looking for me.

—I'm surprised you believe in those things.

—They aren't as described in the fairy tales, but they do exist. Returning to the topic, when Mom and I fled, we used Asian pseudonyms to board a ship. She said that during the trip our names would be "Jiyū and Reizo", and our surname "Gotō."

Mr. Wammy wrote down the nicknames he just heard, but remembering that Japanese surnames should be written before the name, he corrected the note.

—I just noticed something very curious, dear L. As Jiyū means "freedom", here says "Go to freedom".

The child was rushed to catch the note and said: "That's right!"

—I need you to tell me everything about your life —said his host—. Maybe we'll find more hidden messages.

Although we reached Thursday without another explosion, residents of Winchester stayed paranoiacs. They were very frightened by the attack on Mr. Wammy, so they expected the worst from an offender that didn't even respect a national hero.

Orphans embraced fondly our leader when he went to visit, because they were afraid of losing it. Quillsh sent the internal 15 to his room and took me aside, so we could talk.

—You will not believe what I found out. L had a novel-like life—he said with dismay.

The boy told him he had always lived with his aunt, who studied in the mornings and worked as a nanny in the evenings. He stayed in a room without windows, where only his bed and a table with a phonograph fit. His mother visited him on weekdays, always after six, but never took him for a walk, because it was supposedly fatal to expose him to the sun. She taught him to read and write with the help of many books in French, but never told him things about the family; she often said: "The less you know, the safer you will be." The little boy didn't even know his name, until he was given a sweater with a small L embroidered and asked if that was his name. His mother and his aunt went out for a moment, and when returned they swore to reveal the truth; they stated that L was actually his name, and his dead father shared name with the King of Pop. They also said they lived in Disneyland, because the monster could not find them there.

His life remained the same for another three years, until one morning when his mother suddenly appeared to wrap him in fabric cover and locked him into the chest of a car. L was afraid of choking, but stayed there many hours quietly. After that, he was boarding a ship; didn't understand what others were saying, but his mother guided him to the cabin. He remembered they had been at a couple of ports, and then they had traveled in a truck. During that very long journey he heard other unknown languages and had to endure a terribly hot weather, but never dared to uncover fearing the sun, until the day his mother unwrapped his face while saying: "Worth dying to see this"; in front of them there were magnificent pyramids. Later they took a couple of flights, boarded a train, and finally got a small car.

—That is nonsense! He has seen too many movies! —I exclaimed.

Wammy looked at me reproachfully and continued narrating: the fugitives crossed a thick countryside when some bullets deflated their tires. A strange man pointed at the head of Law, so she ordered his son to go with him. The kidnapper handcuffed L to a seat of his car and transported him several days, to deposit him in a box that was uploaded in a noisy boat. The boy ended up imprisoned in a warehouse of Winchester for two weeks, but learned to open locks and escaped. People didn't understand his requests for help, so he ran aimlessly until he came to Joy Farm. He had to milk cows and clean stables, but also learned English. He spent several months at the hospice, until one day his abductor found him and demanded his custody.

We were still engrossed in the story, when the cook told us it was time to eat. L did not want to eat anything but sweet, so Quillsh invented for him a vitamin preparation that could be dissolved in coffee without altering the taste. I wanted to resume talking when leaving the table, but my friend said he would go searching for the kidnapper of his protégé.

Mr. Wammy was a great shooter, but he did not like hunting. He used to carry in the chest of his car a rifle to practice if he ran into some desolated place. As soon as he bought a new limousine, he hid there his gun.

L had wandered several times by the place where he was caught, but always far enough, unable to see his captor. My boss was determined to get inside there, so disguised his companion as a girl and pretended he wanted to rent the warehouse. The owner opened up the space for review.

—Could we know who rent this storehouse? —Wammy asked to him.

—A person named Leopold Blummer rented it for years, but since several months, he doesn't come here. I suspect he left without paying me the bill.

The place was completely empty, but retained marks of drums and cans on the floor. The investigators thanked the owner and went to see the place from the distance.

—Are you sure the kidnapper's name was Lorenzo, not Leopold?

—I remember very well. On one occasion, he showed me a cartoon where he appeared hugging a girl; above her it said: "Law" and on him, "Lorenzo" —the boy spelled the inscriptions.

—That sounds like Spanish, the man must be a foreigner. Do you remember anything else?

—I already told you everything, Mr. Wammy: the guy was an awful thirty years old drunk. He often cried when visiting me, and tried to hug me, but I didn't not allow it. As I always kept silent, I guess he thought I was deaf.

—And you think he was a cop, right?

—He was good driving at high speed, and he had handcuffing. If not an officer, he is a skilled criminal.

—What about the girl in the picture?

—She was wearing sunglasses, so was not particularly recognizable.

—When we get home, I'll find my books in Spanish. Maybe we can get something clear about the label of the cartoon.

—First, we should interrogate the librarian of the Stanmore. I just remembered that Leopold Blummer was the subject who left the poisoned sandwich.

The employee, who had settled to work in a bookstore, was delighted to see Mr. Wammy and was particularly affectionate with "the girl" who accompanied him. L stoically endured the situation.

—The Day before the explosion, the library was visited by more than a dozen people. I was busy, so I didn't see them all, but noticed the presence of a particular man —the girl informed, blushing—. He was very good looking, and had amazing gray eyes; a face like that couldn't be forgotten. I guess he set the trap. What a pity!

Quillsh thanked and retreated in haste. Already on his car, he said to his companion: "Do you know who has memorable eyes? Robert Gibbs!" then ordered his driver: " To Melbourne's house, quickly. "

—Visiting Miss Elizabeth, can arouse the wrath of the bomber. It's best to call her by phone —L warned.

—I think you're right. Ralph, take us to the hospice. My phone is out of battery.

In 1987, the technologies that are so familiar today were still using diapers. I remember the first computer of L, a ZX Spectrum 128 with a dull monochrome display, capable of gathering information from the world thanks to the Internet Engineering Task Force. An apparatus of this kind was very expensive, but it was highly profitable because the boy used it to monitor stock exchanges worldwide. Following his advice, Wammy invested in various company stocks, and before long, his fortune grew as it had gotten much bread yeast. Thus, the little one paid back favors.

—Could I speak with Miss Melbourne, please? —my boss said on the phone. Shortly after, the woman was on the line.

—Hello, Mr. Wammy! I am pleased to hear you. How are you?

—I'm fine. Are you feeling better?

—I have taken some natural wonderful sedatives. You should also try them.

—Later, I will. I hope you don't mind it, but I need to ask some things about your guard.

—Are you going to hire him? Now I understand why he left us.

—Mr. Gibbs left?

—Yes. Tuesday was his last day with us, but he quitted since Saturday. It's a shame to lose him, but I'm glad he takes care of you now.

—Actually, I call to warn you about him; my private detective suspects he is involved with the bombings. Please exercise caution.

—Thank you for caring, you're very kind. When will you come to play again?

—I'm afraid that's not possible for now.

—What a pity. Well, I appreciate your attention. Bye now.

Quillsh loosened the knot of his tie; he felt that the world was a jungle full of wild beasts. He informed L about Gibbs' departure, and then asked me to stay at his home. Once in the mansion, he gave me a glass of excellent wine and a plate of sandwiches. As we played chess, he told me about his new discoveries. He was obviously very upset, because otherwise I would not have been able to win the game.

—There is something else that worries me—he confessed ruefully, as he put the chess pieces back in the box.

—What is it, Quillsh?

—I suspect that Law is not the mother of L.

—Why do you think that?

—She doesn't seem strive to find him. If I were she, I would have contacted all the orphanages in the world.

—Maybe Law died.

—I don't even want to think about it, I wouldn't bear to see that kid suffering. I think I love him too much.

—I blushed with envy, but tried to hide it by drinking a lot of wine.

—It's not good that you get involved with him. He is a mad child.

—That's precisely what worries me, Roger: I guess that Law gave him a lot of absurd data to make him look like a fool. Did I mention that the sweater with the embroidered L was pink?

—Blimey! What kind of mother would dress a boy with that color?

—The clothes they gave him were always worn-out.

—Perhaps they were very poor.

—Of course, they had money: they bought imported books and records. I think they rather recycled their own childhood clothes. That L probably was sewn to identify a sweater of Law.

—That's not cruel, many families do like that.

—What about the visit to the pyramids? A good mother would expose a sick child to the harsh desert sun?

—It's true. She wanted to damage him, or the illness was a fake.

—Yes. Moreover, even if all these lies served to protect him, it would have been better to hire a bodyguard, that way he wouldn't had a dark childhood. I also suspect that Lorenzo is the father of L.

—Lorenzo the kidnapper?

—That one. Otherwise, why did he take the kid?

—Perhaps he wanted a ransom.

—He bought for him expensive toys and good food; instead than a raptor, he acted as his dad.

—Perhaps he is confused. Drunks imagine things.

—There is another fact that makes me think of a relationship: when Lorenzo retrieved the boy from Joy Farm, he didn't have to show any documents.

—Sure, they were urged to get rid of him. Sympathy is not one of his features.

—In that case, they could have expelled him before. I suspect there is a great physical resemblance between them.

—And how could he take L with him, if he is so good at fighting?

—They had to inject him a sedative. The narcotic didn't work, but he pretended to be asleep to avoid getting another dose. Once in the car of Lorenzo, he broke the window and escaped.

At that moment the clock struck twelve. The time had gone like smoke.

—Now we should rest, Roger. All that we spoke will be our secret. Tomorrow, I will call to the major Japanese newspapers and magazines to insert an ad that says: "The child who speaks French and lives in Disneyland."

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


	6. Osaka

"Good morning, Wammy-San!" L greeted his benefactor when he saw him again.

—I notice you've been reading about Japanese honorifics —the gentleman replied.

—I have finished all the books, and discovered many interesting things. I am eager to show you my progress.

—That will be later, because this Saturday we are going to enjoy a picnic in the countryside, and we will have so much fun exploding bombs.

The inventor and his protege toured by the shops of chemicals in Winchester, acquiring materials and comparing the bills with the one they already had. No one remembered having sold hazardous ingredients to a handsome man, or to an alcoholic; for sure, that purchase was made outside the district. Then they went to a wooded area where Wammy laid a blanket and provided delicious desserts and drinks.

—Please tell me something, little one. Lorenzo looked like you even a little bit?

—He had big eyes and a nose similar to mine, but he's ugly while I'm cute.

At that moment, a mastiff jumped out of the bushes and ran past them.

—Have you guessed why I was called dog thief, Wammy-San?

—I had forgotten about that. Why was that?

—It's simple: I memorized the name, appearance and address of all dogs in the area; thus, if I saw one outside its house, it was easy to capture and return. It's too bad that my efficiency seemed suspicious.

—You are truly amazing.

When they finished eating, penetrated to the depths of the forest and began to build the explosive.

—We'll create a very small one, because I don't want to risk you —the adult explained—. I just need to figure out how complicate is to manufacture a bomb like the ones that have been used.

—Let's do it discreetly, because I suspect someone follow us.

—Why didn't you say that before?

—You were already too nervous, plus I'm not sure, I just have that feeling.

—Then pull out the rifle I have in that suitcase. I'll teach you to use it.

Quillsh wrote: "Looking at L loading my gun I had a feeling of tenderness. I knew a boy with such intelligence could become an angel or a devil, depending on how he was raised. Then I realized that already trusted him completely, and even considered him a son to whom I wanted to convey my experience. His aim was good, but he hated loud noises; when we activate the bomb, he shuddered a bit, but then came to watch it burn. "

I wanted to overshadow the detective, so I took advantage of his absence to investigate on my own. I went to the public records building, and found that three people were enrolled as "Robert Gibbs" and two other persons had the name "Leopold Blummer", but their ages didn't fit with our suspect. About Lorenzo there was no data. When I returned home, the cook informed me that we had not received any calls. We expected some Japanese would understand the meaning of our ad and communicate, so I felt very nervous about reciting the phrase that my boss had taught me: "Watashitachiha, anata no tenwabangō or kiroku Gengo no anata no intapurita sugu or anata or yobidashimasu.[1]" Fortunately, nobody used our number for pranks, perhaps because it seemed like it was us who were mocking.

I spent the rest of the afternoon at the circus in the company of the orphans; although sometimes they threw the ball over my plants, I had fond with them. Sometimes I thought about applying to direct the house, but also kept hoping that my boss took me with him when he returned to London. However, I knew he would prefer L over me as long as he was available. In order to calm my anger, I burnt some pieces of my rival's puzzles.

When the great inventor returned from his walk, he exclaimed with satisfaction:

—Guess who drove the car back, Roger!

—I have no idea —I lied.

—It was L, and also he learned to shoot and make bombs.

—Well, if he's so clever, it may be appropriate to send him to study abroad.

—That won't be necessary: I'll hire the best tutors for him and the other kids. On Monday, a languages teacher will start coming.

—That's a relief, because I've been very nervous about the call, which indeed, we did not receive. On another subject, I clarified something about our enemies —I declared proudly.

—What did you find out?

—They weren't born here or they use pseudonyms, and also the police informed that they've never worked with anyone named Lorenzo.

—It was odd that an alcoholic could be a cop.

—Also found another interesting thing: Law means "Ley" in Spanish.

—Then the woman in the portrait could be L's mother! Well, I think it's time to tell him the truth. Where did he go?

—He went to his bedroom.

Quillsh went upstairs to see his protege, and found him cutting a piece of white cardboard.

—What are you doing? —he asked, crouching beside him.

—I'm creating my own puzzles, so I can easily replace the pieces if Roger robs me again.

—I don't understand why you two can't get along, but we'll talk about that later; now we should discuss a more important topic.

—I listen.

—What would you do if your father was alive?

—He's dead. There's no point in thinking about it.

—Have you considered the possibility that your mom has lied?

—She wouldn't betray me; I am now more possitive than ever. Remember you didn't want to hear about my discoveries, Wammy-San?

—Just wanted you to relax a few hours. I'll gladly hear you now.

L ran to take a notebook and opened it to a page full of kanji.

—Look here: the word "Disneyland" in Japanese is written in katakana system[2], so you might think it's just a bunch of sounds, but if we compare the symbols against the strokes that originated them, we can find some elements that seem to describe an address[3]. I am inclined to think that it is number 21 on the street Aldo Moro in San Buono, Italy. Now you understand? Mom has never lied, but spoke using codes.

Wammy rubbed his forehead and sighed with deep anxiety.

—Listen, little one, your mother is not called Law, neither your name is L —he declared while drawing a new kanji[4].

—What a curious symbol! It has an L at the end —the boy remarked.

—This ideogram is used to write "Rei", a name that sounds like "Ley", which in Spanish means "Law". It's a code: your mom's name is Rei.

— But L is actually my name, she swore it.

—I don't think so. The original embroidery should have contained the complete ideogram, but for some reason the first part unstitched. That sweater was feminine and probably belonged to your mother, who all the time has mocked you. I'm sorry to tell you this.

L froze a moment, but then was filled with anger.

—That's a lie! How dare you say that? I see I was wrong about you, Mr. Wammy! You are a despicable person!

The boy ran to the door, but Quillsh managed to catch his arm.

—I don't want to hurt you, but it is unfair that you live deceived. You should know that we put a message about you in the Japanese media, but no one has contacted us.

The creature left the room hurriedly after biting my boss' hand. Just then the phone rang, and I was so surprised picking it up that I cried: a call from Japan! Then L rolled down the stairs and fainted.

We spent the morning in the hospital. Quillsh required medical attention as well, as his health had deteriorated for so many frights. The doctors were unable to make the child regaining consciousness, but when I told them he had at least seven days without sleep, they left him alone. Anyway he should stand still because he got a sprained ankle.

Finally at home, we contacted the phone company, and we find out that the mysterious call came from Suita, specifically from the Osaka University Hospital. It was made by a woman, who sobbed and hung up before I could recite my phrase.

Originally my boss would be in charge of the situation, but he didn't want to be apart from his protege, so on that day, I boarded a plane to Asia. Fortunately I was accompanied by the professor Peter Salvin, who would serve as my interpreter. He was a nice guy, used to move around the world; without his help, I would have been lost for sure. It took more than twelve hours to get in Tokyo, and we arrived very tired, so we decided to sleep there.

On that same Sunday the "Enniskillen bombings" happened, which killed eleven people and injured sixty-three others during a ceremony to commemorate British soldiers dead during the war. Although the attack was in Northern Ireland, Quillsh could not help but relate it to the happened in Winchester. It was a pity that L was out of service! He wanted to see him wake up, yet was very afraid of his reaction, because he might go away forever. Wammy knew him for only a week, but he cannot longer imagine his life without the child.

When at last we were in Osaka, I was amazed by the modernity and beauty of the city. I had never left my country, but Salvin had walked in that metropolis on several occasions, and it was not difficult for him to take me to the hospital of the university. The complex was conspicuous by its cleanliness and was full of people moving with effective sync. We headed to the main office to report our case to an elderly nurse, who replied that during the morning when the call was made, there were a dozen nurses, including practitioners. We request permission to question the girls, but the old woman refused, saying we weren't policemen and simply promised to investigate the matter to punish the responsible for what she considered a joke. I walked to the exit, disappointed for traveled such a long way for nothing, but Peter said we should stay a little longer, just to observe. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack; any woman could be L's mother. Then I tried to think like a detective: if we received the call after nine, in the other side should have been around five. Nurses who work at that time would begin his shift at about eight in the evening. I told Salvin to go sightseing and return in the evening, and I felt very proud when he praised my reasoning.

Meanwhile, in Wammy's House, L awoke. Quillsh hastened to put an ice pack on his ankle, but the boy did not flinch. Her huge eyes open were the only sign that he was conscious.

—How do you feel? —his caregiver asked, but got no response, so he decided to be sincere:

—You have every right to be angry. I'm sorry I spoke of your mother in such a mean way. If you wish, I'll never mention it, but please don't go. You will be exposed to many dangers wandering alone, and I don't want anything bad happen to you. This institution is your home and you can stay here as long as you wish. If you cannot stand to see me here, I will return to London, just ask.

During the speech, L didn't react, but eventually that scoundrel dared to say:

—May I ask Mr. Ruvie to go away?

Despite those discord words, Quillsh was delighted to hear him speak.

—You'd be bored without Roger. Don't you have fun annoying him?

—I guess you're right, Wammy-San. By the way, let me apologize too. I shouldn't have hurt you.

—That's in the past. Are we friends again?

—Sure. I appreciate your honesty to say things, though you are not always right.

—From now on we will continue the investigation as you wish.

—Thanks. Let's focus on locating Lorenzo. Maybe he will lead us to Mom and Mr. Gibbs.

—Right now Roger is in Osaka investigating the call.

—That fool won't find out anything. We should have gone instead.

—When you're completely recovered, we will travel to anywhere you want. I promise.

I hate to admit it, but L was right: I miserably failed. When we returned to the hospital, we watched the nurses, who entered one by one without even looking at us. In the end, a very short girl with a troubled countenance appeared, who made me think of the sobbing woman, so I asked Salvin to call her, but she indicated by signs bearing hurry and disappeared into an office. Surely we bothered her, because in short a guard evicted us from the place. I resigned to leave her alone because she was ugly, and L had said his mother was beautiful… I should have insisted.

We spent Tuesday touring bustling shopping centers, asking for women who buy Clayton's albums, but every person thought we were crazy. Back at the hotel we search the phonebook for citizens named Rei, and discovered that we couldn't have phoned them all even if we stayed there another week. Meanwhile, our comrades had a very productive day: L was analyzing photos and maps, trying to retrace the route that his mother and he followed in his escape, while Wammy was researching about Mihael Jackson through magazines and Internet.

—The artist sang in Japan almost two months ago, specifically in Yokohama —the inventor informed.

—It would be weird that Mom knew about that concert with five years in advance, but that's not impossible.

—Maybe she has a way to contact with the artist. Perhaps one of his representatives was your dad.

—We need more specific data.

Quillsh kept searching in silence, but after a while he dared to ask:

—You think Rei is the girl in the cartoon?

—There's a very high chance; in fact, I should have reasoned it before. But surely, she posed for that portrait just for friendship. Mom is an upright woman and never would have gotten involved with a guy like Lorenzo. On another subject, have you heard from Miss Elizabeth?

Wammy tried to communicate with the lady, but no one answered the line. He kept trying many times throughout the afternoon, with the same result, so he decided that the next day would go to see the woman in person.

By then, it was already known that the deaths of the memorial had been responsibility of the IRA[5], and authorities were very attentive to avoid more terrorism. A security operation was also deployed in Winchester, so people were confident albeit Wednesdays. Quillsh walked around the shops of downtown looking for a gift for his loved one, when he suddenly saw an ad with a photo of her: Elizabeth would give a concert at the cultural forum that same day at 1:00 PM. The gentleman was very perplexed for not being invited, but still checked his watch and discovered that it was past time. Ralph drove real quickly trying to recover the lost time, but the street that led to the site was one-way, and they got behind a car that was moving very slowly. The stage was located in a small courtyard allowing visibility from the outside. Quillsh noticed that the audience filled every seat, but nobody was on the stage, so he thought that the pianist made a pause. Just in front of the theater, the car that preceded stopped, and the driver threw a grenade. A cloud of tear gas enveloped the scene, while those present began to run. Ralph managed to close the windows in time to avoid the smoke, but Quillsh abandoned the vehicle and rushed into the disaster, shouting the name of Elizabeth till fainting.

When he awoke, was in the lions' mansion, connected to an oxygen tank.

—Your woman wasn't in the theater, Wammy-San —L snapped.

—Where am I? In the orphanage?

—No. This is your home. Both of us survived an attack.

—What about Elizabeth? Where is she?

—All I know is she didn't come to her recital.

—What happened to the others?

—Nobody died, because the terrorist used only a dissuasive weapon. The theater was contaminated, but not burned.

—His car was a white Volkswagen Gol, but I couldn't see the plates.

—Did you see if he was Mr. Gibbs or the crippled guy?

—I had no time, the guy ran like a bat out of hell.

At that time Ralph entered with a tray full of drugs.

—It's good to see you already awake, Mr. Wammy: it's time for your eye drops. Today I will be your nurse —his driver laughed.

Adults proceeded with treatment, and then went to sleep. L stayed all night reading in a corner of the room.

In Osaka we were running out of ideas. Peter pretended to have a sharp pain to be hospitalized, but all we got was a box of aspirin because he was a terrible actor. Then I asked my partner to step on my finger, but he did it with too much strength, so I got a real broken bone. Once set in plaster, I got into the office where the attendance lists were, but I chose to take only half to my companion, who to translate them just to find these were from the boys' team.

It was necessary to create another stupid strategy: we ordered to hand over a package of food to the hospital on behalf of Rei, but the operator also asked for a surname, and Peter said, "Toriyama" because it was the first thing that came to his mind. We didn't expect the dealer to announce the package only by the last name, so a fat Doctor got it. We had to retire injured and defeated.

In England, they also suffered. Wammy asked Collingwood for help to locate his beloved lady, and the inspector found that the residence Melbourne was alone since Sunday. The search also revealed that Thomas's personal things were gone, but not his niece's, but there were no signs of robbery or struggle. Members of the staff of servants claimed to have been suddenly fired since Saturday. To make matters worse, Quillsh father suffered a stroke and was in intensive care. Tears betrayed the great inventor.

—Looks like I'm doomed to lose what I love —he sobbed.

—Calm down, Wammy-San. While we are not dead, we are still alive. You have to recover to visit your dad —L advised.

—As soon as Roger gets back, I'll go to London, and I'd like you to investigate Elizabeth's whereabout, but please watch your ankle and refrain from mad actions.

At that time the door was knocked and a man voice shouted, "Police!" The boy hid under the bed while Ralph went to the entrance. Quillsh also wanted to see what was happening, and was very surprised to see a black horse walking through his garden.

—What is this animal doing here? —he exclaimed.

—That's the same we want to know. It was stolen yesterday afternoon, —an official said.

—Then take it with its owner. If necessary, I will pay a fine. I have too many problems to worry about something so absurd.

Wammy drew a check and went back inside. His protege stared at him with regretful face.

—What did you do, little one?

—I was going to return it, I swear.

—Do you like to ride?

—I just learned yesterday. I don't want to make you upset again, but if we go to Wammy's House, you'll understand what happened.

L was not exaggerating: the orphanage was a mess. The children had poured tar and feathers everywhere, and couldn't fully wash the stains. When Clara the cook saw me come in, she exclaimed:

—Thanks to god you finally return, Mr. Ruvie! It seems that only you can keep quiet these savages.

The orphans looked at me embarrassed, and helped me carry my bags to my room. When they explained the whole disaster was caused chasing our hated enemy, I told them I wouldn't punish them, as long as everything was clean before Quillsh' return; however, there was no time for anything, because at that very moment my boss arrived with the detective.

—See, Wammy-San? —L pointed—. I knocked five, because I could use only one leg, and the others ambushed me outside. To save me, I had to borrow the horse.

The accused ones ran to hide in their rooms. I approached my friend and gave him a hug.

—How are you feeling, Quillsh? I heard about the theater incident.

—That was nothing. My father is very ill and Elizabeth disappeared.

—But she had a great time! —I laughed.

—What do you say?

—I ran into her in Osaka! He attended Clayton's concert last Monday!

I explained that while we were in line to buy the tickets to go back to U.K., the woman who was ahead of us threw some coins, and to return them, Peter realized that she was Miss Melbourne, whom he knew through his pianist niece. During the flight, they were talking about the new attack. I couldn't believe that was already internationally known, but she explained that a reporter had hovered for Winchester from the Delight incident.

As soon as Wammy finished hearing my story, he got into his car and drove himself to the Melbourne house. L didn't try to stop him, but he moved in leaps into the kitchen and told me: "Could you bring me my books, please? Today I will study here." I could not refuse, because he was injured. Opening the door to his room, a bucket of ice water fell on my head, and upon entering, I found skating soap. I had fallen into the trap that the guys prepared for him.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was preparing coffee for Quillsh.

—I hope this tastes good; as you can see, there's not cook or maid or anyone else. Now that I'll take care of everything, I prefer to hire trusty people.

—Mr. Thomas deserved rest. Good thing finally he decided to retire —the gentleman said.

—Exactly. All of us will enter a new era.

—May I ask you something, miss?

—Of course, my friend, as long as we avoid annoying issues. At last we met and would be a waste to talk about sad things.

—Please excuse the question. Why didn't you invite me to your concert?

—Oh, I'm really sorry! I was so excited to see Clayton that I forgot everything else.

—Are you his fan?

—Who is not?

—If you have told me before, wouldn't have needed to go to Japan. I have tickets for the show of Dunsfold.

—For Real? I wouldn't mind seeing him twice!

—Nothing would please me more than to go along with you —Quillsh declared, blushing.

The lady turned serious and played with her hair nervously. My boss looked deeply at her and rose from the couch.

—Miss Melbourne, I ... I love you! —he declared, and fled taking with him the cup of coffee.

* * *

><p>[1] We'll record your pone number and a speaker of your language will call you back soon.<p>

[2] ディズニーランド

[3]天 heaven 伊 Italy 須 Nee good 尓 you 止 stop

[4] 礼

[5] Irish Republican Army

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


	7. Mr Wammy the terrorist

The following weekend, Quillsh went to London in company of Ralph. L and I shook our hands as farewell until the limousine disappeared.

—Could you answer me one thing, Mr. Ruvie? —the kid said, as we walked back into the hospice.

—Why should I, little vermin?

—It would be good to have a truce, at least until Mr. Wammy's health improves.

—Agreed. What did you want to ask me?

—Do you know why Miss Elizabeth didn't come to her recital?

—She said that her flight was canceled. Why do you ask?

—When you ran into her she was buying a ticket, right?

—Yes. What does that matter?

—As far as I know, when a flight is canceled, there's no need to pay again; the airline accommodate the passenger on another plane, am I right?

—That's true. What do you mean?

—That the pianist knew what was going to happen, so she stayed in Osaka as precaution. Perhaps she even knows who is behind the bombs.

—Don't tell that to Mr. Wammy. He has suffered so much lately.

—It's necessary to find out the truth, and he's the only one who can question her.

—But right now he doesn't want to see her. He's so ashamed for his confession.

—He will overcome that soon.

—By the way, do you want to know what I did in Osaka?

—No, I will save you from humiliation. We are at truce.

Edward Wammy stayed at the best hospital in England. His room was a luxury suite, and the best specialists had extreme care with the rich patient. Quillsh found him freshly bathed when he came to see him.

—Good evening, Dad. How do you feel?

The old man, who had been very well, made a suffering expression.

—So, you finally remembered that I exist?

—Please, sir, you musn't get upset —a nurse interjected.

—Leave us alone. This is a matter between father and son —the grumpy patient replied.

The nurse disappeared after announcing they had only ten minutes to talk.

—I've waited so long for you to come, and you almost have to go.

—I'm sorry, Dad. I couldn't leave the orphanage alone.

—Now it turns out that those bastards are more important than your own father!

Quillsh hung his head; he was accustomed to such scenes.

—It's so sad to end my days like this, knowing my fortune will end up in the hands of dirty orphans, because my foolish descendant were not able to maintain the lineage —Edward continued.

—Please respect the memory of Victoria, dad.

—I'm just telling the truth! Even the most miserable people can marry and have babies, but not my successors; I have to die without grandchildren!

His firstborn stated silent, resisting the offenses.

—As always, you don't say anything! Anyway, what could you say, if you caused my loneliness?

Quillsh clenched his fist upon hearing about the issue of Coventry, but said no word.

—If you had regrets about that, you should at least give me a granddaughter to remind your mother, but not happy with socially humiliating me, now you hurt me in business. I know that you are not longer the number one in sales. Because of you I had the heart attack!

His partner didn't hear the rest of the insults; his mind escaped into those woods where he taught L to shoot, feeling they were a family.

—Now you dare to ignore me! You are an ungrateful son, do you hear me? Un-grate-ful!

The nurse finally came when hearing the elderly crying. Quillsh kissed his father on the forehead and left without saying anything; he had the feeling of having awakened from a strange but exciting dream to return to a gray reality. In Winchester, he felt like a human able to have hope, but in London he was simply the stoic Mr. Wammy. He walked around the main streets until their steps took him to the King Cross station, where he paused to reflect. Each person circulating there seemed happier than himself.

The first days without our benefactor were spent in holy peace; everyone in Wammy's House suspended the attacks and enjoyed together the lessons of professor Salvin. I was surprised by how easily I could learn languages, so I started translating classical music pieces to create a choir, and the kids loved the idea.

We were calm until certain dawn when the little detective began to stir things. I was out doing some gardening, but could hear the noise.

—What are you searching at this hour? — I asked.

—Today may be bombings, and I'm sure the target will be the Melbourne residence. I need the phone number of Miss Elizabeth to forewarn her.

—Are you mad? It's five o'clock in the morning!

—I promised Mr. Wammy to take care of her.

—All right, I will call her.

The phone rang many times, until a yawning servant answered. I gave her the warning, and she just said that the security guard would take care of everything. In the distance I could hear a sleepy Elizabeth asking who called, so I decided to hang up.

—At least she's got protection again—I announced to L.

—But if Gibbs is the bodyguard, things get complicated. I have to watch over the house.

—No matter how gifted you are, you alone can't change the world. This time we should have some help from the police.

L sighed agreeing, so I dialed chief Collingwood, but the line was busy. I decided to retry an hour later, and then I had him on the phone. Albert changed his tone of concern for one of kindness when he knew Mr. Wammy was involved in the affair.

—What does my good friend need?

—Miss Melbourne is back, but we fear somebody will try to hurt her.

Collingwood was silent for a moment, and then said quietly:

—I'm going to confide you a secret: Elizabeth is at the police station right now.

—But what happened? She was sleeping at home little time ago!

—It's good to know it, because she is accused of carrying a bomb. Please, Mr. Ruvie, come here and tell me everything.

L wanted to accompany me, but I refused. Since he hadn't rest enough his ankle was still swollen. I finally managed to convince him to stay by promising I would buy a piece of chocolate cake. Already in the police station, Albert led me into a private cubicle.

—Now please explain me why you are afraid —he asked.

—Mr. Wammy hired a private detective to investigate the bombings.

—Doesn't he trust my abilities?

—It's not like that; I meant, the detective is investigating by himself.

—I'd like to talk to him then.

I was pale. I had spoken too much.

—The important thing is he has discovered that the attacks are aimed at Miss Melbourne, so I phoned to warn her very early.

—What time exactly?

—At five o'clock, and she was home, I assure you. Could you tell me why is she considered suspicious?

—I will, if your detective shares his information as well.

Feeling cornered, I said something that would be prophetic:

—Well, he is a very important professional, and nobody knows his location. To stay safe, he never shows his face, but manages everything by telephone. —Collingwood looked at me skeptically, so I had no option but to yield—: Anyway, I suppose he will talk to you if I ask him.

—That's so good, because this case is wierd. You see: this morning, one of my officers was driving home when he saw a woman walking in the shadows of a park. He got out of his car to ask if she was okay, but the lady ran. Following her, my man noticed she was armed and also carried a bomb, so he jumped on her and managed to remove the explosive, but was terribly beaten with a pistol.

—Is he dead? —I asked.

—No, but he ended up in the hospital with significant injuries. He identified his assailant as Elizabeth Melbourne.

—I think our detective would like to question him.

—I can't reveal the identity of my policeman. In fact, this will be kept as secret to avoid popular panic.

—Could I know where that happened?

—In he garden which is one block away from the Melbourne residence. Anyway, Mr. Ruvie, I don't want to waste more of your valuable time. Don't worry about the lady, because she has requested to refuge here all day; your warning did not fall on deaf ears. Thank you very much for being a good citizen.

The news were so exciting, that I returned to the hospice without the promised gift and L became cranky.

—I don't see any cake. I'll have to take some actions.

—I'll buy you triple ration if you come with me now. The park will be full of tracks that only a good bloodhound can find.

—Are you calling me dog, Mr. Ruvie?

—Actually I was trying to make a compliment.

The boy put on his girl costume while I called a taxi. I laughed out loud when I saw him with blonde curls wig and gown with ruffles, but he ignored me and lifted his skirt to board the vehicle.

—You're mistaken, isn't carnival day yet —I continued mocking.

—Cut off the crap. I don't do this because I like, I have to hide from my enemies.

I stopped instantly, realizing he was right; my friendship with Mr. Wammy depended of his safety.

The crime scene was still being guarded by some policemen. It was a medium-sized park, surrounded by lush trees and flowering shrubs, with a court in its center and children's games. There were several kids playing soccer and groups of mothers chatting as they care over them. I carried "the blonde girl" on my back and started exploring.

—I don't see any bloodstains— I said, trying to be smart.

—It's obvious that had been washed. Do you see that part of the floor that looks cleaner? There must have been lying the victim.

L asked me to hover around the periphery of the park until he found something.

—Look there, Mr. Ruvie —he said, pointing at some tyre marks—. The policeman should have applied the brakes with violence here. In this part, the bushes are overgrown.

—And what does that indicate?

—It's difficult to watch inside the park, and at dawn it might be impossible. In fact, the lamp that should illuminate this area is broken.

The detective asked me to take him down and crawled across the floor. Some ladies who passed nearby told him that behavior was not proper for a female, but he ignored them. Then he picked up something small and showed it to me:

—It's a glass fragment —he explained—. They should have swept the other pieces. If you look closely, it is very clean, suggesting that the lamp was recently destroyed.

I scratched my head, because I couldn't get the point, and then he cried: "Back away!" I obeyed instantly, realizing that had been standing on some small reddish spots. My companion spat on them and rubbed the area using the edge of his skirt.

—I need to change clothes urgently —he said with disgust.

We went to a nearby boutique, where I bought for him a ridiculous multicolored dress but he wasn't ashamed to use it. After throwing the dirty outfit in the trash, we got into a coffee shop. L obsessively washed his hands before pouncing on three pieces of cake with extra cream.

—I think we've already found the mad bomber —he said while eating —. I'm ninety percent sure he's the wounded policeman.

—Then let's capture him. I'll visit every hospital looking for the criminal.

—He must not suspect that has been discovered. We still need to know if he has accomplices.

—But we already know there are Gibbs and the crippled one.

—Maybe all of them are actually one single person, a master of disguise.

—We must acusse him, or he will hurt more innocent people.

—That would be useless. His teammates believe in him blindly; they didn't even have doubts about his depositioin.

—And what if he's right and Elizabeth is the one who puts bombs?

—That's absurd; it's obvious that this man wants to implicate her. How could a simple pianist beat a cop? Also, everything in the park indicates that he was lying.

My partner told me a reconstruction of events that matched what we found: "Upon finishing his night shift, the police drove toward Miss Elizabeth's house to put the explosive, but had to brake suddenly when someone appeared in front of him. The intruder knew the most direct way to get from the police station to the residence and set the stage destroying the lamp; covered by darkness, gunpointed the bomber out of the car, then hit him and took the artifact. The wounded bled a little, but didn't lose consciousness, so he followed his assailant to the center of the park, but as there was light, the attacker became enraged and tried to kill him to protect his identity. "

—We still need to find out who the attacker was and why he wanted to steal the bomb.

—All we know is that he had information about his victim. Perhaps he is following orders from someone else.

—My head will explode with so many suspects. I need a break.

—Anyway, we must wait until the following Wednesday. With the beating he got, the police will be hospitalized at least for three weeks. If the bombings stop, we can be sure that he works alone.

While we were trying to make justice, our leader turned his back to problems; he had decided not to return to Winchester and leave Miss Melbourne alone. He would appoint me as director of the orphanage and simply pay someone to search for L's family. He was going to erase the last weeks of his life and move on ... or so he intended, until he saw dark smoke dirtying London's sky: the King Cross station burned uncontrollably. Quillsh rubbed his face with anguish, thinking that disasters would follow him wherever he'd go.

On Thursday night we dined at Wammy's House watching television. We followed the reports about the tragedy in the capital, because we wanted to determine if it had any relationship with our case. L was covering his cupcakes with tons of jam while the others watched in disgust.

—Sugar is for me what cocaine is for Holmes —he simply stated.

The TV show of Nell Bill started, and the little detective choked when hearing that they'll discuss the case of "Mr. Wammy the terrorist."

"Welcome to this new broadcast", the fat host greeted. "This hot program is about a mysterious man who is considered our country's savior. Yeah, hot is the word, because lately he has been surrounded by fires and bombings. We have photos and videos of a reporter who has followed his steps, and you won't believe what you'll see. Don't change the channel, this will be explosive!"

Coming back from commercials, Bill reviewed the incident of the Melbourne factory II and the destruction of the library. He stated that both events had been very beneficial for Quillsh, and even talked about witnesses who saw him smiling with pleasure nearby the ruined places. Then appeared pictures of the burning car, and the guy said: "To avoid suspicion, Mr. Wammy decided to fake an attack against him. Many saw his car being driven erratically before being left in a lonely alley, and interestingly the driver was not there when it exploded." The announcer also said that my boss had mounted the cultural center incident to look as a martyr and regain popularity. We were really angry, but had still not seen the worst: then aired a video that showed Quillsh teaching L how to use a rifle and activating an explosive. The recording had poor quality, but there was no doubt that they were our friends. "These images show that Wammy's House is actually a hotbed of terrorists, where innocents are trained for dishonest purposes." Nell spat. "But the most outrageous thing is that the damn traitor was seen in King Cross two days before the fire. If he was responsible for the tragedy, justice must make him pay. That's all for tonight. Don't forget to tune in tomorrow to find out more celebrity secrets!" There the transmission ended, but not the horror. We felt furious, and L even twisted his spoon. Since then, the detective spent his time connected to the Internet, and the only time he spoke was to ask me for devices that prevented track our phone number and a filter to distort the voice. Meanwhile, the other children and I received visitors that the broadcast brought us with a chorus of angelic voices that belied rumors.

The defamed had not seen the show, but learned of its existence when he was approached by countless reporters. Because the phone didn't stop ringing, he decided to take refuge in the hospital with his father; he couldn't even eat outside as strangers insulted and tried to assault him. The fury of citizenship fell on him.

I wanted to prove the innocence of my friend as soon as possible, so I decided to investigate an issue that L had not touched: the fate of the bomber's white car. Actually it was such an elementary question, that Collingwood had already solved it; when I visited him he told me that the car belonged to the Brightons, an elderly couple that never closed their doors. As also they slept all day long and threw away their keys anywhere, were victims of theft often. At that time, the car was stolen at early morning, and a police reported finding it abandoned just after the attack. The criminal was very careful, because he didn't leave more clues.

I returned to the orphanage proud of my initiative and sarcastically told to L: "It seems that borrowing transports is the trend." He cut my report: "If you refer to the bomber's vehicle, I inform you that I already deduced it was stolen. Now leave me alone, I'm on an important mission. "

To forget the distaste I turned on the TV, but turned it off immediately, as almost all programs spoke of Mr. Wammy's scandal. My poor fellow was shattered by that. I write here his thoughts:

"People say that in this life we all must hit bottom, but at that time I seemed to fall by an infinite abyss. From being an idol, I had become the most abhorrent criminal, sentenced to end up as an outcast. I remembered my beloved L, and I was saddened to realize that sooner or later I would lose him too, because what he needed was education and resources, not an old man trying to alleviate his loneliness with his friendship. Suddenly, the phone interrupted my thoughts, and I literally jumped at the voice of the child, who ordered me to tune channel 13 without even greeting me. On the screen, a grieving Bill Nell appeared retracting from the information he had spread about me; he even claimed that the videos were fake and begged for my forgiveness. When the apology was finished, L said: "I hope you enjoyed. As soon as you can, come back to us." and hung up. I flew out to say goodbye to my father; I could already return to Winchester."

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


	8. All of you are idiots!

Everybody at the orphanage celebrated the defeat of Nell, but the responsible just showed an odd smile and went to his room. I followed him.

—It was you, right? That was great! —I praised.

—Actually, it was teamwork. You were right: you can't do everything by yourself. Now we have to reward the person who helped me.

—How did you manage that?

—I contacted a spy who discovered that Nell cheats on his wife. As that woman runs the TV station, if she knew of the betrayal, she'll throw Bill to the street for sure. I explained that to the announcer, so he readily agreed to recant ... and well, I also threatened him with death.

—But that's illegal!

—So is defaming innocent people. An eye for an eye.

—Don't you fear to be betrayed by your reporter?

—She won't do anything to me, as long as I save a friend of hers from jail. Please hire the best lawyer for Thierry Morello —the boy said while handing me a folder with data about the prisoner. I argued that we shouldn't get involved with people like that, but L didn't hear me: he had fallen asleep.

The next morning I went to his bedroom to verify that he was all right, but could not find him. I looked everywhere, and finally saw him enjoying a light rain on the roof. I had to climb there.

—What the hell are you doing? At this rate, you'll never recover.

—I'm a normal kid, I do mischief.

The car of Mr. Wammy suddenly appeared in the distance, and we gazed at it until it stopped in front of our door.

—Hello, Wammy-San! —L greeted loudly.

—Why are you up there? —Quillsh asked.

—Mr. Roger told me to come here to look at the landscape.

I wanted to pinch him, but even without one leg he was very fast. Our benefactor gave him a crutch.

—As you don't stand still, you better use this —he ordered.

Once inside the house, the orphans performed a beautiful song of Handel, and Quillsh applauded with excitement.

—When I left, this place was a hell, but it has become a paradise. Remind me to double your salary, Roger; in your hands, even children bloom.

—Mr. Ruvie is not as silly as he seems to be—L declared.

Wammy upbraided the child, but I defended him—: Please forgive him. He is not as obnoxious as he seems to be.

Then we sat down to have breakfast together. The air was full of some kind of relief that we hadn't felt in a while, and it was because of our leader, who looked refreshed and jovial.

—I see that trip helped you, despite the slander —I said.

—L taught me that instead of fleeing, we must take the situation on our hands. I'll change what makes me suffer.

—Thanks to that stupid TV show, we verified that Miss Elizabeth didn't lie, at least about the reporter —the little detective interjected.

I wanted to change the subject, but my boss didn't allow it.

—How is she lying?

—She expected the cultural center attack, and therefore stayed in Japan. In fact, I suspect she is acquaintance to the mad bomber. You don't know, but your lady was called to testify on suspicion of carrying explosives and hit a policeman.

—Why didn't you tell me before?

—You weren't as strong as you're now, Wammy-San. Fortunately, you'll go today to see Miss Melbourne, right?

—Of course. When you hit the bottom, momentum is acquired to come to the surface.

The gentleman took out his huge Dyna TAC 8000X to make a call.

—Hello, this is Quillsh Wammy. Please tell your mistress I'll wait for her outside the cathedral at five o'clock. She may not want to see me, but I need to give back something to her— he said to the servant who attended him, and hung up without waiting for an answer.

My friend didn't want anyone to accompany him, because he considered the event as a test of strength; he had proposed not to get depressed even if Elizabeth didn't appear. He would go ahead, accompanied or alone, but always moving forward. An unknown man suddenly appeared by the church, looking fixedly at Wammy, and then left to return accompanied by the beautiful lady.

—It's a pleasure to see you again! —the pianist greeted.

My boss shook his hand tightly and then asked, pointing to the man—: Who is this big guy?

—He's Marshall, my new bodyguard —she said. The guard forced a smile, and Quillsh returned a similar gesture.

—Would you like to go to the countryside, miss? It's a beautiful day.

—I love the idea. Let's get into my car; Marshall will drive.

—If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you alone —Wammy said, offering his arm to her. The escort would intervene, but my friend cut his briskly—: Your mistress will be safe with me. No one would dare to mess with Mr. Wammy the terrorist.

Elizabeth laughed and told his companion to leave them, and already inside Quillsh's limousine she exclaimed:

—Bill Nell really went beyond the limits!

The gentleman didn't respond; instead, he turned on the stereo with the album "Augusto", so Clayton would speak for both of them.

Once in the forest, the couple walked a while without exchanging a word, but when the lady stopped near a bush of white daisies, her companion joked:

—Where are you, Miss Elizabeth? Which flower are you?

Elizabeth laughed charmingly and my friend stored that picture in his mind. He thought that even if he loses her, at least he had good times and memories. Then he decided to show the stolen mug and said—: I needed to return this to you, and I also want you to keep the words I said before taking this cup.

He was really encouraged! That was the real Quillsh Wammy.

—You mean the "I love you"? —she asked, taking the porcelain.

—Yes. I apologize for loving you, but I couldn't help; you're the perfect woman.

Miss Melbourne dropped the cup, and it got shattered.

—I'll give you something that I do want you to give me back —she announced, and slowly approached the gentleman to kiss him in the cheek. Then my friend took her in his arms and repeated the caress.

—Then you love me too? —he asked.

—It's impossible not to do it. You're the perfect man.

The lovebirds walked hand in hand among the flowers quietly, until Quillsh broke the silence again.

—Dear Elizabeth: if we'll be together, I need you to be very honest with me.

—I've always been.

—Tell me the truth; did you know that it would be a bombshell on your recital?

The pianist became pale and released the hand of her boyfriend.

—Don't be afraid to tell me. I need to know in order to protect you —Wammy reassured.

The lady confirmed it: she suspected the attacks were aimed at her and had decided to put a bait to investigate. Quillsh scolded her for exposing innocent people, but she defended herself saying that the venue was open, which would prevent trapped victims.

—Not all the pretty women are stupid —she argued.

—I never hinted that. Anyway, we shouldn't get angry about something that already happened. Please answer another question-

—If I had known I would come to an interrogation, I would've brought my lawyer.

My boss tenderly embraced her and caressed her long, straight hair.

—I don't care if you made mistakes. All I want is to help you.

She nodded and kissed him on the cheek. Her boyfriend took up the question—: Did you strike the policeman, or you hired someone to do it?

—I asked Marshall to punish him, because that was the only way to get rid of him.

—Do you know that man?

—Well, yes. Such guy chased a friend of mine when we lived in Spain. Because of his profession, nobody believed our complaints, so my roommate decided to beat him, and only then he left her alone. Later we discovered he was a poor alcoholic who had lost his wife and children in an accident, and was engaged in harassing people who look like the deceased ones.

—Is he named Lorenzo by any chance?

—I don't know. We always called him "cripple" See, now you must tell me how you know these things.

—I have the world's greatest detective working for me. I'd love to introduce him to you: he's a boy genius.

—Is him one of your orphans?

—Yes, though he'll possibly find his parents soon.

—You shouldn't trust such serious matters to a kid. If he's truly gifted, why not to send him to the special school that opened in Boston?

—That won't be necessary; I will turn Wammy's House into a school for great intellects.

—You and I are persons of rank, my dear, and we have to be among people like us. Orphans are icons of failure, because they come from incapable parents that couldn't even give them a place in the world.

—That's exactly what my father says —Quillsh sighed.

—Why to take care of others' mistakes when you can raise your own successful children?

—Do you think about starting a family?

—Nothing would please me more. I just hadn't found the right man... until now.

It was getting dark, so Wammy took Elizabeth home. He found her residence freshly painted and the garden plants uprooted.

—I see you are remodeling. If you want, I can send Roger to help you.

—Thanks, but that's not necessary. I have actually thought of selling this house to move to London. Winchester is so boring!

—Well, from now on I'll make it fun for you.

The couple kissed as farewell, while Marshall stared at them with angry eyes.

The gorgeous notes of "Wonderful this night" surrounded the hospice while their occupants drank the tea.

—I wonder how Mr. Wammy's date ended up —I confided to L, who ate a piece of pie with many strawberries.

—Clearly the lady also has interest in him —he replied mouthful.

—Nothing would please me more than to see him happy.

—I agree. And you, Mr. Ruvie, should also get a girlfriend. Abigail is nice, but she does not bathe often.

The assistant, who was sitting with us, left the room angrily.

—When will you learn to shut your mouth? —I yelled at the unwary one.

—Adults are weird; they scold us for telling lies, but also for telling the truth.

I was trying to pinch him when the phone rang. It was Quillsh, who shared the good news with excitement. L was thrilled to learn that the wounded police was Lorenzo, but when he listened about the romance, became gloomy and prophesied: "from now on, we won't see Mr. Wammy often."

Our benefactor didn't visit us for three days. He was busy taking his girlfriend to restaurants, cinemas and parks. He invested his free time in practicing piano and visiting the barber.

The little detective felt bored, so he invented a form of entertainment: everyday things got lost and began to appear in the weirdest places; so we had cereal boxes in the washing machine, tablecloths under the cushions of the chairs, cutlery buried in pots ... When I asked why he was doing that, he explained that carried out an experiment about our ability to adapt to change. I told him to better search for his mother, but he replied he needed to leave the country to do that. On Wednesday, he got on the roof early. He looked like a gargoyle by his peculiar way of sitting, though he substituted his weak foot with an arm. I let him be, because I shared his jealousy; both of us felt relegated. The day was very quiet, until nighttime, when I heard the cook screaming. L had thrown the egg carton to the floor, and exclaimed: "Clara is a fool!" The other kids came immediately to see what happened, and began to chase him. I watched everything from the top floor, but as soon as he discovered me, screamed: "Mr. Ruvie is an idiot!" I threw at him one of my shoes, and he answered me by shattering the windows with his crutch. Then I joined the chase; we ran some laps around the living room, until we got to the bathroom, where L pulled the shower curtain and exposed John. The victim wrapped himself in a towel to join the throng. Everyone in Wammy's House was insulted. The damn brat called us one by one dedicating rude words, and finally kicked the fence to rush into the street. While we followed him, he was screaming relentlessly: "All of you are idiots!"

We ran some distance, until we reached river Itchen and our prey dropped into water with a horribly swollen leg. Then, we heard an explosion.

—I apologize for the method I used, but otherwise you wouldn't have evacuated so quickly —L excused himself—. Now we have to call the fire department and refuge in the Lions' mansion.

We applauded his sharpness and carried him on our shoulders to the big house. When Quillsh found us there, he was startled.

—But what happened?

—A bomb exploded in Wammy's House —I explained.

—It was my fault. I was too confident —the wet detective said—. It was obvious that we would be their next target.

—Please tell me everything in order —my boss asked.

—I was enjoying the twilight on the roof, when I saw a cloaked guy jumping our fence. I thought of capture him, but I noticed he was installing a bomb, so I preferred to get everyone out of the place.

—Could you identify him?

—I just saw he was an athletic guy.

Wammy sent the hospice people to sleep and summoned his beloved odd child and me for a secret meeting.

—I won't forgive this. I'll finish this issue once and for all —Quillsh roared.

—And who will you punish? —I replied—. We have Gibbs, the crippled one, Lorenzo, the athletic guy...

—I can get more clues, but for that I need a voice filter —our little companion said.

The inventor improvised the required device and the boy communicated with chief Collingwood.

—Good night. I am L, Mr. Wammy's private detective —he introduced himself with robotic voice.

—Finally I have the pleasure. I am chief inspector Albert Collingwood. I'm really sorry, but I can't attend you right now, because I'm very busy. Could we talk after a couple of hours?

—This won't take long; I just want to know how your wounded official is.

—He recovers favorably, but he'll have to rest a while longer.

—Have you visited him?

—I haven't been able. I just called him some hours ago, but the nurse said he was sleeping since evening.

—I fear someone could try to kill him. Would you mind to assign him a guard?

—That's a good idea. Hey, I'd like to keep talking with you, but I have to make an urgent call right now.

—We'll speak later, then. Thank you — L said and hung up.

—You're a big fool!—I scolded him —. Why did you say your real name?

—Nobody believes it's real.

He was right: only four people, including me, called him that way. For everyone else, he was Reizo Gotō.

—This is my logo —he announced while showing a piece of paper with an elegant printed L; I snatched it when realized it was a capital letter thorn from a book of mine.

—I don't get the purpose of your call. I thought you would ask the law for help — Wammy snapped.

—Now we know that Lorenzo didn't put the last bomb, and he won't escape because someone will be watching over him.

—Tomorrow I'll go to see him. He will be easily identified because of the guardian —Quillsh said—. Also I will wiretap his line to know if he is giving orders by phone.

—It's a great idea! —I praised—. How can I help?

—Get me a gun —L asked.

—Why in the world you want that? Did you forget Bill Nell's trouble? —my boss protested.

—Someone must protect Wammy's House. You are very busy lately.

The boy was right: Elizabeth absorbed our friend. Because of her, Quillsh postponed the task of looking for Lorenzo, and didn't even escort us back to the orphanage. Fortunately, the security systems had extinguished the fire promptly, so the house didn't get too much damage. Our friendly neighbors helped us to clean the debris and lent their Bobtails to us, which made the kids happy.

On Friday, our leader finally returned victorious. Under the pretext of checking the hospital's extinguishers, he got permission to explore the whole place. He had managed to see the wounded man, who had bandaged face, but the guard prevented him from talking to the patient. The phone trap was installed successfully, and that very afternoon we had a chance to test it.

—Hello, comrade! How do you feel? Are you ready to prosecute criminals?—Collingwood saluted with his peculiar voice.

—Save the joke, man. We both know that I'm always heating seats —the convalescent answered.

—How is your knee? I hope it didn't get worse after this incident.

—Are you sure no one is listening?

—You know your secret is safe with me. Anyway, if we get out of this, I promise I'll help you to have another surgery.

—Do they still suspect me?

—Yes. There is a detective after you, so I had to put surveillance. You should remove the charges against Miss Melbourne; don't mess with important people, my friend.

—You're right. I will say that I was delirious when I made my deposition.

—The good thing is that the press didn't know about this issue, and we can bury it forever.

—What about the show? Will you grant me to go?

—If you're well then, count on it, but now you have to rest. Remember there's a colleague that will help you if you need anything.

—Thank you, Colley. Bye now.

L exclaimed: "Lorenzo's voice is creepy!" and fell off the chair where he was crouching.

Quillsh continued absenting. He abandoned us when we needed him more, so I phoned him to complain and he just told me that his girlfriend had hired a foreign detective to deal with everything, and we shouldn't get involved anymore. When L knew about that, became very sad, but tried to hide it. "It's good that other person will investigate those stupid bombs! Now I can concentrate on finding my mom", he said.

To cheer him up a bit, I took him with me to my old house. The place was covered in dust, because I had not come there since I moved to the orphanage. I found in the mailbox a lot of letters from Margaret, and to read them calmly, I locked me in my bedroom. My heart skipped a beat when I saw an invitation to the opening of my sister's bakery, occurred weeks ago. I couldn't hold back my tears at the thought that I had forgotten my own family by concentrating on an ungrateful friend that no longer took care of me. I cried for a while, until a shot tore me from my sadness, and discovered that my guest was holding a small revolver that my father had inherited me. "Great! It works!" he said with joy for having pierced my wall clock right in the center, blowing up its hands. I scolded him, but since we had to protect ourselves, I decided to take the gun to Wammy's House, warning him that the others should not find it.

The next day, L called the Japanese embassy in Italy; the person in charge agreed to search for his mother in San Buono. After that, L repeatedly phoned the Osaka University Hospital. The nurse who picked up the phone didn't want to answer any of his questions, and finally, unplugged the line. The investigation had hit a dead end, so the boy got even more depressed and locked himself in his room to eat tons of sugar.

All the children were in their beds when a tall, pale man rang our doorbell. As I felt distrust, I attended him with closed fence. The dogs barked nervously.

—Good night. I'm sorry to come at this night hour. I am Mr. Lawliet —the visitor said.

—Lawliet? —I stammered, trembling with shock.

—Yup. I came to recover my son. Tomorrow I go back to Japan, so I don't have time to waste.

The man handed me a folder containing a French act on behalf of "Reizo Lawliet" and a kindergarten certificate from the same country, plus some medical studies.

—I hope he is well —the guy continued—. Just bring him to me, I'm in a hurry.

I thought of telling him that he came to the wrong orphanage, but since he looked a bit like L, I decided to ask the kid to identify him.

—Fils bien-aimé! —the man exclaimed when he saw the boy.

—I don't know this man —the little one said, clutching me.

—Wow! Now he even speaks English! You did a great job raising him! —Lawliet expressed.

—The child says he doesn't know you. Please go now.

—Read the studies! My son suffers from amnesia and other mental problems.

—Then he's not the one you're looking for. Go away or I'll call the police.

Instantly I felt a cold metal cylinder squeezing my forehead. The guy had me at gunpoint.

—Open the door or die right here! —he commanded.

My hands were shaking and I couldn't get the key into the lock, but L helped me to do it.

—Remove the dogs! —the intruder indicated, and I scared the animals until they went to the other end of the garden. Then the boy left closing the cancel; the intruder threw away his crutch and grabbed him by the neck.

Not daring to follow them, I saw them disappear hoping everything was a nightmare. I screamed for help, but no one listened. I was going to send the dogs after them, when I heard a shot, and then L ran back with my revolver in his hand. Immediately I took him inside the house and undressed him, because his shirt was splattered with blood, but fortunately he wasn't injured. I wanted to know what had happened, but he covered himself with a bed sheet and said: "I'm asleep." Promptly, I phoned Quillsh, but the system warned me that he was outside the coverage area; there was nothing left to do but to wait for daylight to move the detective to a safe place.

As I already said, Peter Salvin was a very kind man; he gladly accepted to give asylum to L. The boy took his equipment with him, and asked me not to visit him, fearing the impostor would follow me to locate his prey.

After finding the Lion's mansion deserted, I decided to wander by the paths surrounding Wammy's House, trying to imagine where the wrongdoer had fled. I walked a while along the Itchen, without much hope of accomplishing anything, until I saw a white Volkswagen Gol surrounded by polices who were recovering a corpse from the river. When I went to look, I shuddered: the dead one was Lawliet! Although a bullet had destroyed his face, I could recognize him by the clothes he wore.

—Oh, my god! What happened here? —I asked Collingwood, who led the operation.

—The Brighton's car was stolen again. We came to recover it, without knowing there was this little surprise waiting for us —the commander explained.

Before putting the body in a bag, a forensic took his fingerprints to compare them with those he had in his record, and finally exclaimed—: Just as I thought! This is Teddy White.

I wanted to check inside the car, but Collingwood got in my way.

—Please leave, Mr. Ruvie. Your boss and you are getting involved in many dangerous matters. If you continue like this, we have to consider you suspects.

I left and went to the town's archive, where I found several notes about the recently deceased, who was a thief from Romsey repeatedly arrested for various crimes.

—When I phoned Salvin's home, L spoke dully—: You called just in time. I found out something interesting.

—There's no time to waste—I interrupted—. You have to escape. They found the kidnapper's corpse.

The boy hung up on me, so I got one of Abigail's uniforms, and after completing my costume with a hat, took a taxi to see L. He was right: the maid clothes stank. When I arrived, Peter went out, but stopped to lend me a copy of his keys. Upon entering, I found L wrapped on a fax paper strip.

—Let them arrest me. I'm a gross murderer —he murmured, without looking at me.

—You killed him for self-defense. Come on, flee while you still can! —I insisted, but he didn't move. I tried to contact Quillsh, but was unsuccessfully again, so I decided to call Miss Elizabeth. Her maid informed me that the couple had been traveling since Sunday, and would not return until Thursday. I was furious to learn that my boss had fun while we were in big trouble.

—Leave me alone. You smell really bad—L grumbled when I tried to carry him.

—You have to move on. Remember that you're close to find your mother.

—She will die of disgust when she knows I'm a murderer.

—You're not a criminal, you just overacted a bit. You shouldn't have aimed at his head.

The boy stood up when hearing that.

—I shot him in the leg, when he tried to load me in the car.

—Was it just a single shot?

—There weren't more bullets.

—Then someone else should have killed him. It makes sense; would have been stupid to throw himself into the river.

I told the detective what I saw, and he regained his strength.

—Do you still have the documents he gave you, Mr. Ruvie?

In response, I pulled out a folder from my wallet apron. The documents were definitely fake, but very well done. Looking at them calmly, I discovered something I hadn't seen before: a photocopy of our ad in a Japanese magazine.

—I wish White had not died —L lamented—. I believe he was on mom's side.

—How can you say that? Why didn't she pick you personally?

—Possibly she is sick. Let me show you —he unwrinkled the roll of paper where he had laid, and showed it to me —. I finally got the list of the Osaka University Hospital employees, and I realized that we have misconstrued the situation: Mom is not part of the staff; rather she is there being cured. I imagine that she slipped into the office to call after seeing the ad, but repented and chose to find out who owned the phone number first. Knowing that Wammy's house was involved, she hired White to get the records of the boarders, so they found mine. Otherwise, how could he know that Lawliet is my provisional surname, and Reizo my nickname?

—It has logic —I admitted.

—Mom had to get false documents, so his assistant could claim me; she also instructed him to speak to me in French, because she knew that was the language I understand.

—But why he said you were mad?

—They invented that to explain why I didn't recognize my fake father. It was the same strategy that Lorenzo used to get me out of Joy Farm. Tell me the truth, Mr. Ruvie; do I look like a crazy boy?

—That doesn't matter right now —I escaped—. We need to find Ted's murderer before you are blamed. Do you have any idea who it was?

—White needed medical attention, but instead of seeking relief, he went to a desolate place; surely there was an accomplice, who decided to punish him for his failure.

—I don't understand.

—Perhaps the murderer was planning to get a ransom for me.

—What if Lorenzo was the one who tried to kill you? Remember the bomb in Wammy's House, perhaps you were the target.

—I've thought about it, but I don't find it logical. Anyway, I'm devising a master plan to expose all our suspects; I have to conceive it carefully, because I will be the bait—. L unrolled the rest of the fax and pointed to another paragraph of text—. By the way, I forgot to tell you that we have fewer enemies now: last week, an Ira militant was arrested for making bombs and chemical weapons. He is described as tall, handsome and gray eyed. His name is Liam Mc Carthy, but is known by at least five different aliases. Have you guessed who he is, Mr. Ruvie?

—He is Robert Gibbs. Counting him, there are two criminals out of combat.

—Would be three, assuming that Lorenzo is the crippled one, but we still have the athletic one unchained out there. We must continue spying on the phone, because tomorrow will be Wednesday. I'm eager to have a new bombing that gives us another piece of the puzzle.

—Still don't know why everybody thinks you're insane?

It was very boring to wait for things to happen, especially when they didn't happen; Lorenzo did not receive more phone calls, and we didn't know of another attack, at least for that week.

—Perhaps Miss Melbourne's detective has already captured the criminals —I said to L over breakfast.

—I doubt he goes ahead of me. I'll call Mr. Wammy to find out about it. He is supposed to return today.

The child dialed several times, but couldn't succeed until the evening when my boss finally picked up the phone.

—Hello. This is Quillsh Wammy. Who are you? Mr. Salvin?

—Hello, Wammy-San. How are you?

—Dear L! I'm so glad to hear you! I feel great. I took Lizzie to Paris, and best of all, we got engaged. Isn't it wonderful?

—Well, that's relative.

—And how have you been?

—Compared with yours, our experiences are trifles: Roger has started to dress as a woman, and I'm involved in a murder ... Nothing out of the ordinary.

—I'm going to Wammy's House immediately.

—I forgot to tell you that we hide in professor Salvin's house since someone tried to kidnap me, but do not rush, everything is fine.

Thanks to reverse psychology my boss came flying, but the child was already asleep. I told my boss what happened, complaining for his abandonment, and he excused explaining he thought that being away from us would protect us from danger; he also announced he would travel again the next day, but would hire guards to protect the children, but I shook my head as disagreement.

—You know how reckless L is; we have to get this rascal out of here, before we lose him forever. Leave him into a boarding school. He loves to learn.

—He will refuse, because is determined to find his mother.

—Then take him while he's sleeping. It's a chance that should not be missed.

Quillsh accepted my idea, and we did hurry to prepare the luggage and put the detective into the car.

**This story is based on characters from Death Note, created byTsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Although some events mentioned were real, this must be regarded as purely fictional. All brands and names appearing belong to their respective legal owners. This work does not pursue profit, was made by a fan for other fans of the series.**


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